tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17284180385351444562024-03-14T01:47:37.265-04:00The Cozy Corner Reading RoomBrianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-84924995194664960462014-02-01T20:30:00.000-05:002014-02-01T20:30:24.227-05:00RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB "SPOTLIGHT" Author Blog Tour!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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That Novel Will Never Be Perfect</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UicxRQccFPY/Uu2cZmM8gDI/AAAAAAAAAhk/RI7a8x_25mw/s1600/SAM_1163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UicxRQccFPY/Uu2cZmM8gDI/AAAAAAAAAhk/RI7a8x_25mw/s1600/SAM_1163.JPG" height="320" width="302" /></a></div>
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From Katie Hayoz</div>
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I’m not a perfectionist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Little mistakes don’t bother me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But when it comes to my writing, I take pride in what I do and I want
what I put out there to be not just decent, but good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rewrote <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Untethered
</i>at least eighteen times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Literally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m talking
full-on, rip-it-up and make do with the shreds kind of rewriting, not moving
sentences around. What started as a five page story ended up (20 years later)
to be a 340 page novel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That novel went
through so many critiquing sessions and beta readers that I was sure it would
be perfection by the time it was published.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Ha.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not quite.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Writing is art, and like all art there is a point where the
person creating the work <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just has to stop</i>.
She just has to tell herself that particular piece is the best she can make it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">right then</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the sticker: right then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because the truth is that you can always go
back and make it better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There will
always be holes you missed or mistakes you made or words that paint a clearer
picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you keep going back and
going back and going back you never move on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Never get on to the next book; the one that first one prepared you for.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My dad paints watercolor. I can’t tell you the number of
times he’s looked at a picture of his, already framed and on the wall, and
said, “Why did I think this was finished? This whole section could use reworking.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom rolls her eyes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I totally do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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But there was a point when I just had to quit trying to make
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Untethered</i> perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A point where my writing group and my family
and friends said, “Stop already!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m proud of this novel -- the
characters, the world, the writing itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, that didn’t keep me from face-palming myself after its publication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were things that I see now that I
couldn’t see then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It kills me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet…</div>
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<br /></div>
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And yet I could go in, change it all and six months from now
I’d be face-palming myself again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
I’ve left it as is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve moved onto
another novel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s finished; sort of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve done three drafts – three pick away the
fleshy parts and gnaw on the bone drafts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ll rewrite it one more time. Then I’ll need to tell myself, “Stop
already!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That novel will never be
perfect.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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But I’m hoping it will be damn good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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*Katie Hayoz was born in Racine, WI, USA but ended up in
Geneva, Switzerland, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and two
fuzzy cats. She devours YA novels like she does popcorn and black licorice:
quickly and in large quantities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Untethered</i> is a
paranormal coming of age novel that follows 16-year-old Sylvie on a unique and
slightly sinister journey of self-acceptance. Sylvie has an ability to leave
her physical body and astral project. While it could be akin to a superpower,
she sees it as a curse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is, until
the day she decides to play with its dark side. Sylvie then sets an evil plan
in motion that she believes will change her life for the better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she does not count on it spiraling out of
control.</div>
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Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-5139917614961067052013-11-07T17:20:00.003-05:002013-11-08T09:31:34.107-05:00DAYDREAM'S DAUGHTER, NIGHTMARE'S FRIEND Book Intro!<div id="yui_3_13_0_1_1383862506752_2058" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px;">
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_1_1383862506752_2104" style="font-weight: bold;">Blurb:</span> </div>
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"She was one horrible mess. Always looking over her shoulder, avoiding becoming too friendly with the neighbors, never letting her kids out of her sight for fear of human monsters lurking around corners, waiting to cause them harm. That anxiety stemmed from her own childhood memories. Always fearing that someone would recognize her face, she kept to herself and didn't go out much. And when she did, no matter the season, she wore some kind of hat or covering on her head, enough to shield her face. HE had done this to her even though he was dead now. </div>
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Walter never understood why she was such a loner, avoiding people as much as she could, and just being extremely anti-social outside of the house. Houston was originally her home, not his, yet she didn't even want her own family and friends to know that she had returned. The only person she found herself able to really open up with was him. And although she tried to make him feel otherwise, he knew that there was still a huge wall up that even he would never be able to see over or climb.</div>
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Marisa had a secret and if it was ever discovered, it could cost her her life and her freedom."</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Review:</span></div>
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"I couldn't put this book down! Every chapter that I read kept me on the edge of my seat, excited about what was to come in the next chapter. I want more...so hope there's a sequel! Lifetime Television...watch out for <span style="font-weight: bold;">DAYDREAM'S DAUGHTER, NIGHTMARE'S FRIEND</span>. You're going to want to turn this script into a movie!"- <span style="font-weight: bold;">P.J. Soemer,</span> Book Lover</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Trailer:</span></div>
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<a href="http://youtu.be/qbUK3XQ5-dA" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">http://youtu.be/qbUK3XQ5-dA</a></div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">BUY LINKS:</span></div>
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<a href="http://nonniesbookstore.com/Daydream-s-Daughter---.html" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">Nonnie's Book Store</a></div>
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Coming to Amazon as an e-book Saturday, November 9, 2013</div>
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<span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nonnie Jules, Author</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"...and her words breathe life onto paper"</span></span></span><br />
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_1_1383862506752_2065" style="font-style: italic;"><span id="yui_3_13_0_1_1383862506752_2064" style="font-weight: bold;">If you're interested in keeping up with this author, please check out the links below! Thanks for joining us on this collective 25 blog BOOK INTRO!!!</span></span><br />
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<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">CONTACT:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.nonniewrites.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">General Blog</a><br /><a href="http://www.askthegoodmommy.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">Parenting Blog</a><br /><a href="http://www.nonniesbookstore.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">Nonnie's Book Store</a> - Signed Copies & more<br />Twitter: <a href="http://twitter.com/nonniejules" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">@nonniejules</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">BOOKS:</span><br /><span style="background-color: #ff007f;">"The Good Mommies' Guide to Raising (Almost) Perfect Daughters,"<br />100 Tips On Raising Daughters Everyone Can't Help But Love!</span><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CP62O56" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">www.amazon.com/dp/B00CP62O56</a><br /><a href="http://www.createspace.com/4355124" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">www.createspace.com/4355124</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: garamond, 'new york', times, serif;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">TRAILERS:</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16.5px;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"><a href="http://youtu.be/zg15rptFN2g" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">"THE GOOD MOMMIES' GUIDE ..."</a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://youtu.be/qbUK3XQ5-dA" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">"Daydream's Daughter, Nightmare's Friend"</a> </span></div>
Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-44272534425287133072013-10-15T09:35:00.000-04:002013-10-15T09:35:36.391-04:00Meet The Characters Blog Tour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QryrqkVG-Dk/Ul1EKspoELI/AAAAAAAAAgo/FGVcJLj6y64/s1600/nonnie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QryrqkVG-Dk/Ul1EKspoELI/AAAAAAAAAgo/FGVcJLj6y64/s320/nonnie.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2461" style="font-size: 13.3333px; font-weight: bold;">NONNIE JULES</span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">is a mother, a wife, a dog lover, a great supporter of others and all around great friend. She hails from Louisiana and is an avid reader and lover of books. </span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px; font-weight: bold;">"DAYDREAM'S DAUGHTER, NIGHTMARE'S FRIEND"</span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">will be her second piece of published work. </span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> </span><span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2465" style="font-size: 13.3333px; font-weight: bold;">"THE GOOD MOMMIES' GUIDE TO RAISING (ALMOST) PERFECT DAUGHTERS", 100 Tips On Raising Daughters Everyone Can't Help But Love! </span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">has turned into a really big hit for parents of girls and boys alike. You can preview it at </span><a href="http://amazon.com/dp/B00CP62O56" id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2466" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; font-size: 13.3333px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">amazon.com/dp/B00CP62O56</a><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">and you can also view this tear-jerker of a book trailer here at</span><span style="font-size: 13.3333px;"> </span><a href="http://youtu.be/zg15rptFN2g" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; font-size: 13.3333px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">youtu.be/zg15rptFN2g.</a></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2468">This is the 3rd stop on the 7-day MEET THE CHARACTERS...blog tour and so far it's been a hit and a hoot! People are loving these characters (or hating them)! On Sunday we all met Maiya, the main character and on Monday we met her mother Aurelia. You can follow the rest of the tour here at<a href="http://wp.me/p3sUCq-rv" id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2470" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank"> http://wp.me/p3sUCq-rv</a> or go back and catch the interviews you've missed already. The author would definitely like for you to keep in touch with her on Twitter <a href="http://twitter.com/nonniejules" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">@nonniejules</a> as well as via a FOLLOW of her blog <a href="http://nonniewrites.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">WATCH NONNIE WRITE!</a></span></div>
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And now, it's time to meet the character <span style="font-weight: bold;">DURAN LEE, JR. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2475" style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Hello Duran, welcome. May I ask what your part in this fabulous story might be? Who are you and where do you come from?</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2478">A: Well, you obviously already know my name but I'm from the hoods and the streets of south side Chicago. Inglewood, to be more exact.</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Q: How did you meet Aurelia?</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2482">A: I met her in a night club. We started dancing and just hit it off from there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Did you know that she had five kids already and that she was seven years older than you? </span></div>
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A: It didn't matter to me how many kids she had. I love kids and kids love me. Did I know she was older? Heck no, cuz' she looks so young! She was a real catch back then.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Maiya and her mom (Aurelia) don't seem to get along at all. And you appear to be at the center of that. Would you like to give us your take on what the fighting is about here?</span></div>
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A: Maiya and her mom (I think) had this bad relationship BEFORE I came into the picture. She has also accused me of doing inappropriate things to her and that has pi$$ed her mom off. Some things you just don't say.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Well did you?</span></div>
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A: Did I what?</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Did you do inappropriate things to her, like she has said?</span></div>
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A: Look, if I'm gonna be accused of things I can leave now!</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Duran, I wasn't accusing you, I was merely asking a question which you seem to not want to answer, so we'll just move on.</span></div>
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A: Thank you. Cuz' I didn't come here to talk about no inappropriate things and to be quizzed like I'm some kind of murderer.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Duran, you do know that this is an interview, right?</span></div>
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A: Look, one more smart-a$$ question from you and you're gonna make me come across this table. Of course I know this is a damned interview!</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Duran, I'm sorry. Would you please just calm down?</span></div>
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A: And I don't like people telling me to calm down. THAT'S the dumbest thing in the world to say to somebody you just pi$$ed off! Now do you have anymore questions for me? I mean the kind worth answering? If not, I can get outta this joint.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Is it true that you spent time in prison for multiple things and that while you were back in Chicago, you once beat a man so badly that when he was found, he was barely clinging to life?</span></div>
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A: And, what of it?</div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2448" style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Well, it would be kind of hard to get readers to believe that you didn't do the things that Maiya has accused you of, when you have a rap sheet so long and then you readily admit to doing these other horrible things in the past. Why should anyone believe you?</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2445">A: Nobody has to believe me. As long as Aurelia believes me, I don't really care what others think. Including you.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2407" style="font-weight: bold;">Q: WOW. OK. May we ask how you feel about Maiya since she's made these "accusations" against you?</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2404">A: I forgive the girl. C'mon, she's just a child and all children like to make things up, you know? What am I gonna do...stay mad with her because she LIED on me?</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2443" style="font-weight: bold;">Q: Duran, do you know how this story is going to end?</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2440">A: If I did, do you think I'd be sitting here with you answering questions?</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2402" style="font-weight: bold;">INTERVIEWER: "DAYDREAM'S DAUGHTER, NIGHTMARE'S FRIEND"</span>, after having two release dates that were put off, will finally be released on Amazon <span style="font-weight: bold;">October 31, 2013</span>. That's Halloween and so this release will tie in perfectly with that day. Not that it's scary, but it's not a very pretty story and Halloween is not a very pretty holiday, right? You can view the book trailer here at<a href="http://youtu.be/qbUK3XQ5-dA" id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2439" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">youtu.be/qbUK3XQ5-dA</a> and you may also read an excerpt from the book here <a href="http://wp.me/P3sUCq-gj" id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2400" rel="nofollow" style="color: #196ad4; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px;" target="_blank">http://wp.me/P3sUCq-gj. </a></div>
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We hope that you have enjoyed meeting this character although I personally didn't find him very likable. But, that's just my two-cents. Please engage him below with comments, let's see how he responds. You never know. Also, everyone who does leave a comment for this character will be entered into a drawing for a $20 Amazon gift card. If you're following all seven days of the tour, be sure and leave a comment at each stop because you get an entry for each comment left! Is Duran Lee, Jr. lying about what he's done to Maiya? Could Maiya be making all this stuff up? What do you think? How do you think this story will play out and end? Stay tuned and mark your calendars!</div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2435" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"><span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2434" style="font-size: small;"><span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2436" style="font-weight: bold;">Nonnie Jules, Author</span></span></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2433" style="font-size: small;"><span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2432" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"><span id="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381843647653_2431" style="font-style: italic;">"...and her words breathe life onto paper"</span></span></span></div>
Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-25266699784356007822013-07-24T16:55:00.000-04:002013-07-24T18:49:47.956-04:00Featured Author <div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b>Nonnie Jules</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">author of </span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">"THE GOOD MOMMIES' GUIDE TO RAISING (ALMOST)
PERFECT DAUGHTERS", 100 Tips On Raising Daughters Everyone Can't Help But
Love!</span></i></b></div>
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<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00CP62O56&nou=1&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>
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This guide is filled with 100 tips on how you can raise
girls "everyone can't help but love!" The author, Nonnie Jules takes
you on a journey of how she used these tools that kept her adult daughter with
her virginity still intact through high school, college and grad school.
And she proudly exclaims that it is still intact today! In her very humorous
manner, she tells how she started teaching her daughters when they were still
in her womb and she swears by this method. Real-life situations along
with methods on how to effectively deal with each and every one filled with a
little humor thrown into the mix, makes this a really good, fun read. The
author is quick to share that she is far from being a PERFECT MOMMY ("just
ask my daughters"...she says), but she is a really GOOD one and that's all
you need to be to raise children who are perfectly suited to become productive,
caring members of society.<br />
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<b>Parent Tip # 35</b><br />
<b><i>TEACH YOUR DAUGHTERS FORGIVENESS.</i></b> The Bible (Ephesians
4:32) says "Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another,
as GOD in Christ forgave you." It's not always easy to forgive someone,
especially when they have wronged or hurt you horribly, but the Bible teaches
us to forgive lest we be not forgiven. I have always shared with my
daughters that when you've been hurt, let down or betrayed, it's OK to forgive.
Forgiveness does not mean forgetting... as you can forgive a person without
excusing the hurtful act.<br />
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<b>Bio:</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Nonnie Jules</b> was born in TX but was relocated to
Louisiana when she was a toddler. She still lives there today with her
husband and their two daughters and many, many animals. She loves to write from
many genres, including poetry, fiction and non, as well as How-To guides.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>Upcoming Projects:</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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My highly-anticipated novel entitled <b><i>"Daydream's
Daughter, Nightmare's Friend"</i></b> has a release date of August
22, 2013. You can read an excerpt of it <a href="http://wp.me/P3sUCq-gj" target="_blank">here</a> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><i>"THE GOOD MOMMIES' GUIDE TO RAISING (ALMOST)
PERFECT DAUGHTERS"</i></b> can be purchased in either ebook form
at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CP62O56" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a> or
paperback edition at <a href="http://www.createspace.com/4355124" target="_blank">Createspace.com</a>. </div>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b>It makes a great
baby shower or new mommy gift!</b></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I can be found on Twitter <b><a href="https://twitter.com/NonnieJules" target="_blank">@nonniejules</a>,</b> on
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/nonnie.jules?fref=ts" target="_blank">FaceBook</a> and of course on my blog <b><a href="http://www.nonniewrites.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">WATCH NONNIE WRITE!</a></b> At <a href="http://www.nonniewrites.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">http://www.nonniewrites.wordpress.com</a>.
If you enjoy a variety of topics that are both thought provoking and entertaining,
FOLLOW me while you're there.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thanks for this opportunity Brianna and thanks to all
your readers who have allowed me to share a little of me with them today!<br />
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Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-1169450821858396542011-07-01T05:57:00.003-04:002011-07-05T18:26:30.492-04:00Featured Author for July 1<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Welcome to the Cozy Corner Reading Room!</span></span></span></b></span></strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial; font-size: large; font-weight: 800;">For more great books, visit The Book Shelf tab above^^^</span></div></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial; font-weight: 800;"><br />
</span></div></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">This week's Featured Author:</span></span></span></b></span></strong></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;">Tessa Stokes</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;">Read an interview with Tessa on the Chair to Chair Page >>>>></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f83MLZpDIos/TgxDqpwHmsI/AAAAAAAAAHc/4GVYGMQ2rxY/s1600/tessaweb1+2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f83MLZpDIos/TgxDqpwHmsI/AAAAAAAAAHc/4GVYGMQ2rxY/s320/tessaweb1+2.gif" width="213" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;">Author of:</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iBM3vfUUbWs/TgxDlxg5O-I/AAAAAAAAAHY/Sjj35lCjnog/s1600/Spellbindingfrontcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iBM3vfUUbWs/TgxDlxg5O-I/AAAAAAAAAHY/Sjj35lCjnog/s200/Spellbindingfrontcover.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IQFWvYAH9Vg/TgxDdTJC9XI/AAAAAAAAAHM/hrFOtSyZZfI/s1600/frontcoverspellbreaker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IQFWvYAH9Vg/TgxDdTJC9XI/AAAAAAAAAHM/hrFOtSyZZfI/s200/frontcoverspellbreaker.jpg" width="161" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--It279Y_n3M/TgxDipO89GI/AAAAAAAAAHU/AepuuryaMho/s1600/specialeditioncopy+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--It279Y_n3M/TgxDipO89GI/AAAAAAAAAHU/AepuuryaMho/s200/specialeditioncopy+copy.jpg" width="132" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8DmptGpoXtk/TgxDgPinBxI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/WnEGN4CEcMY/s1600/sevenspellfrontcover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8DmptGpoXtk/TgxDgPinBxI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/WnEGN4CEcMY/s200/sevenspellfrontcover.jpg" width="162" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QsAvgCOQgpc/Tg2XoNRyTAI/AAAAAAAAAHg/IDhgkBz75HU/s1600/sealeddoorforsmashwordscover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QsAvgCOQgpc/Tg2XoNRyTAI/AAAAAAAAAHg/IDhgkBz75HU/s200/sealeddoorforsmashwordscover.jpg" width="140" /></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b>The Seven Spell<br />
Saga Series</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Spellbinding Book one of </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The Seven Spell Saga<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Chapter Three<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The next morning I woke to dull grey skies and a mist of fine rain, it was coming onto the window ledge where I had left the window open the night before and I closed it up. Pulling on a sweater and jeans I padded downstairs in my felt slipper boots. Mom was down there and Steven, who was on his mobile talking about music, he went to the fridge and got orange juice out completing his call with see you there then. Mom was sipping her coffee and looked at me over her cup, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I’ve started a new project” she said “so I expect to be really busy for the next few weeks, what are your plans, will you look into going to college when they start their academic year here?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I know I looked dismayed, “Mom can I just get settled here before I have to think about college, because you know I’ve applied to UCLA and yet I want to stay here now, I need time to check all the courses out.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">She seemed happy enough with my answer and off she went to her huge study. Steven told me he was being picked up by John and his brother they were going to hang out at the rehearsal place John’s brother and his band had rented. So cool he had said and also left the kitchen. I made myself tea, this was good, I could get on with my snooping about; I more than likely would hardly see mom for days, if not weeks I grinned to myself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I put one of the postcards of the waterfall with Tristan in the stained glass window scenes in my back pocket, turned my phone to silent mode and grabbing a jacket against the now steady drizzle of rain I went off to the greenhouses in the hope of seeing Tristan. I would show him the postcard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">As I walked by the drenched garden I smelt the grass and earth. That special wet smell rain gives to the ground sometimes as summer approaches. It was early spring and it had been warm off and on. The last spurt of real warmth coupled with occasional night rain had meant the flowers and tree blossoms were already lush. I knew that there would be more, the leaves would coat the trees, and branches would meet across the narrower country roads to form leafy arches. There were parts of the States that had this kind of vegetation and I had holidayed there as a child. I looked forward to the lighter nights, mom had told me that it stays light in summer sometimes as late as ten o’clock at night, how cool is that?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I reached the greenhouses, the path was full of puddles, the drizzle was stopping, and I took my hood down and approached the door to the largest greenhouse. I didn’t knock or hesitate I just went straight on in; if I hadn’t then I would have lost my courage. The place was big but I knew it was empty, of people anyway, there were many plants, lovely coloured flowers, all kinds of deep pinks and purples, some white, I thought some of these must be the orchids. There were different sizes of flower heads, some of the flowers I just didn’t like, but others were such lovely colours I liked them for that. I walked the length of the greenhouse then turned and walked back the way I had come and out the same door, there was a door at the other end but I really wanted to keep my bearings. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The next greenhouse was a few meters away, I stepped across a big puddle and still got water in my shoes, but it had totally stopped raining now and the air felt warmer. The other greenhouse door was ajar; opening it further, I went in to find the place was heavy with the scent of roses, although many were just buds as far as I could see. I walked along intrigued, now these flowers were lovely and such a range of exquisite colours, some were pale green with antique rose coloured or deep rose coloured bands at the very top of their petals it was as if they were about to open their buds. They were so beautiful, but I was stopped from looking at them when a familiar voice asked,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“What are you doing here now?” it was Tristan. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I turned around he was virtually behind me, and I hadn’t heard him approach at all, spooky, I thought. Then answering as honestly as I could I said, “I came to look for you”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">This clearly surprised him on some level because a few expressions passed over his face before he settled into his usual impassive mode. He had looked happy, sad, slightly surprised. Now he had that look of tolerance on his face, but he said “Really and why’s that? Do you need a better photograph?” his sarcasm was surprising, he even seemed bitter. I wanted desperately to either please him or at least befriend him somehow, this was the first time I had seen him in real light, he looked younger than I had first thought now, and he looked almost vulnerable here with the roses as background. His denim shirt was open over a dark blue T-shirt and the usual jeans he wore. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I came to find you to ask you about the waterfall, I thought you would be the best person to ask, what with being in the garden staff and looking after the grounds and so on”, I was almost babbling.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He looked at me with what was intense disquiet “What about the waterfall?” his voice was almost a whisper. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Well I found a postcard in the museum shop that has a picture of what I am sure is the waterfall”. I began, I wanted to put him at ease, was he scared? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I was thinking I would do some design work around the theme of waterfalls, rivers maybe I don’t know, but if I want to get into a college here I need to put together a portfolio I think…..” I tailed off. Was this as transparent to him as it sounded to my ears? He looked relieved; I thought he must believe me. I went on, “ I read in the museum booklet that there was a legend surrounding the waterfall and I thought you might know it and that it would be great to weave the story through my designs, you know background and so on. Plus I really need photographs of the waterfall and I hoped you would take me there, just so that you don’t find me there almost a trespasser again”. I managed to smile at him, though my heart was beating very fast as I looked at his lovely face and realized I cared very much that I was telling him a lie again. I really did want to just get to the truth with him and be there for him, well if he wanted any one to be there that is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I don’t know if I can help you with the legend”, his voice faltered, and then he sighed. “I will take you to do the photography”. He had put his hands in his jeans pockets, now he took one out and ran it through his hair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">This time I really smiled at him and when I thanked him and asked if it could be tomorrow, I decided I really was going to do it, the design I mean. I would make that not a lie, his relief at my ordinary excitement was tangible, and he almost smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I would like to photograph some of these roses too” I added, “Because they are incredibly lovely”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> He did smile at that and it made me so happy to see him smile. I turned to the white, green, and deep pink roses, “These are just the best roses I have ever seen; did you grow them?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The look of pleasure on his face and the broad smile he had for this comment was like sunshine on me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I did but I didn’t breed this rose or many of them in here, they are special hybrid roses. I get them delivered dormant and grow them from what look like sticks”. He walked a few steps down the greenhouse.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I really like this one at the moment, I kind of have a favourite for a while then another will start to bud and I will fall in love with that one”. He picked up a pot with a rose that had several closed buds a few half open and one virtually open, they were the most delicate shade of lemon and cream and off white. I went to him and looked at the rose more closely; our heads were close as we both looked at this lovely thing. I moved my head slightly and could feel his closeness; we both knew that if we turned slightly we would be face to face. I had never felt anything so intense; I supposed that this must be what love songs and poetry was about, it was like a spell; just the way they sing about it. Our closeness was spellbinding for a few seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He broke the spell; putting down the rose he turned away, and said in a soft voice, “It’s very calming in here.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Looking at me again he said more normally, “Tomorrow around ten I can drop by the restaurant, if you can be there, then we can go to the waterfall”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It was good to see him without that impassive face, good to be near him and good to hear the warmth in his voice as he said this. I told him that was great I would look forward to it. I meant this sincerely and I know I looked at him longingly; it seemed this look was enough to have him walk towards the door saying he had work to do and would see me tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He sort of showed me out the door and I walked into the day as if I had woken from a dream. You might know what I mean, it was like when you go to see a really engaging movie, at the end when you walk out into the real world it’s just as if you have left another world behind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The rain was completely gone and there was a patch of blue sky up there where the sun was about to peek out from surrounding clouds. I decided to go straight to my desk and do some work, make what I had said to Tristan less of a lie as soon as possible. As I walked along suddenly the sun came out and the whole countryside lit up, all the puddles, the rain on the leaves, the wet tree trunks, and every droplet on blossom shone in the sunlight, it was magical. Just like Tristan.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Back in my room, I got down to drawing. Using the photographs, I drew the waterfall without Tristan in the frame, naturally. I began to abstract the waterfall and at the end of three hours which flew by I had a series of designs that were not half bad, I almost felt pleased with them, the only thing stopping that, was knowing I had been motivated by guilt. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I decided a walk would be good for me, picked up my sunglasses as well as a jacket because who knew if it would rain again and went downstairs, I detoured into mom’s study and even though I don’t think she heard me I told her I was going for a walk. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Outside the air was sultry, I found myself wandering down the path to the edge of the woods where I thought I had seen someone a couple of times and where the fox had run into. Closer to the wood the path petered out, and became just a trodden but muddy track. I stopped because I didn’t want to get too muddy since I didn’t have waterproof shoes and had already gotten my shoes wet that day, they hadn’t yet dried properly and my feet felt a bit squelchy. I was peering down through the trees, I don’t know what I hoped to see but I did see a small group of deer, which surprised me and them too apparently because they looked up from their grazing flicking their ears and taking off together further into the woods. By the largest tree at the beginning of the path was a small clump of beautiful flowers, blue and bell shaped, I realized they were bluebells and then I noticed larger groups all scattered through the wood as far as I could see. Knowing I could go no further, since I didn’t know where I would end up, I turned around and went back the way I had come to where the path forked and one led off to the restaurant as it passed where I lived. Taking this path, I went to the front of the restaurant and sat down at one of the outside tables.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> A small group of people were at one of the tables, this area served as a refreshment area for tourists for a certain period each afternoon, and I looked at the menu which was printed on a peacock shaped card, and slipped slightly under a glass bowl of pansies. I wondered who might come out to take my order, in seconds it was Jen, and I asked for a cup of tea, and asked who was working that day. She told me Oliver and Patricia and went off to get the tea I had asked for. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It was Oliver who brought it out, grinning, he put the small pot and jug of hot water down on the table then the cup and saucer, he had a tiny sugar pot and milk jug to put down and I said “Don’t worry about them I don’t use either”. He asked me what I was up to today and I told him that I had been drawing for most of the day, which was true. “I get off at six” he informed me, “ do you want to go for a walk through the ruins or grounds and catch up, it looks like it will still be a fine evening?” I told him that would be great and he went back inside. He was out again quickly with a tray of food for the table nearby; he looked at me and smiled a heart-melting smile across at me over their heads. The sun had come out and was hot on my head as I sat there drinking my tea and thinking firstly about Tristan and then about Oliver, how can it be possible to be so attracted to two guys at the same time, it was simply awful, right?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It would be an hour before I met with Oliver, Patricia had come out to serve a new group of people, they were talking in French and laughing at each other, before she went back in; I caught her attention and asked to pay. You see you can’t go guzzling the profits just because you are the owner’s daughter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Walking down to the lake where the swan boats had been I noticed a lantern had fallen into the edge of the water and bent to retrieve it, I thought the crew must have missed it when they cleared up on Sunday morning. The water droplets dripping and sparkling in the sunlight reminded me of Tristan and the way he changed when he was touched by the waterfall and pool. Did it happen with any water I wondered, what about rain? Then I realized I was being ridiculous and put the soggy lantern in the next available litter bin, cleverly disguised as tree trunks without being tacky. This estate was a good compromise of authentic and new decoration of necessary tourist items like litter bins. In my experience this could be tacky and sometimes deliberately over the top, such as the big theme parks I had been to in the States. There was no tackiness here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I was tired of my squelchy shoes and decided I had time to go home and change them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">At home I found a car I had not seen outside on the big drive as well as mom’s Cherokee and the hire car, walking in through the front door I could hear music. In the middle dining room were Steven, the boy he knew from school, John, and two older boys, one of them Will. They were playing guitars. I stayed there watching and listening to them, it was really good music, suddenly they stopped and fell about laughing. “What’s the joke Steven?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Nothing, no, it’s just that we started playing just messing around, and then we had a tune which we just put together, with no thought at all right guys?” Steven explained, “it just ended because I suppose collectively we had no where to go next” he laughed again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“But write it down” I said, “It was good”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I had noticed Will, “Hello Will are you part of the band here too?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> It turned out that Will was a friend of John’s brother, the other older boy, Will had joined them in the band, but also he and John’s brother David were a duo and would play at local events and so on. They were in the last year at school and only had a couple of months to go. I had realized Will was about the youngest recruit at the restaurant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I said I was just home to change my shoes and went off upstairs. I put my wet clogs on the windowsill in the full sun, hoping they would start to dry a little more. I only had my sneakers now besides the flat shoes I had bought and worn to the garden party, I need to make myself buy shoes I said aloud as I went back downstairs and out into the late afternoon sun. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I walked quickly to the restaurant as it was nearly six. Oliver came out barely a minute after six; he walked straight up to me as I got up from the low wall I had been sitting on. In my sneakers I came up to his shoulder, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Are you working tomorrow too?” I asked him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I know you think it’s because Tristan was meeting me at the restaurant tomorrow morning that I asked and you’re right again, but I was also asking because I was actually going to tell Oliver about the meeting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“No not during the day,” he said with a smile, “I have the evening shift tomorrow. I am meeting with a potential client, they want a web site built and I need to run over my design thoughts with them, it’s great really”, he smiled again his eyes on mine. “I am so glad you came over here today” he continued, “It’s great to see you, and you realize we haven’t exchanged mobile numbers yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “That’s true, because we have just been running into each other all the time since you work here, I live here ….” I stopped, taking my phone from my pocket and flipping it open, “let’s do it”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> He told me his number and I texted mine to it, the little ding dong of the message into his phone assured us of the communication.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We were walking along the edge of the lake and talking about cars. His was out of the garage and I still missed my Wrangler, when with no warning at all it started to pour with rain, just straight down, really heavy these massive raindrops. Oliver took my hand and we ran to the side where a small marquee was erected with stacks of chairs and tables inside, all white and with metal lace-work backs. We were laughing as we got inside and both turned to look at the absolute downpour, the raindrops so big and so heavy they bounced back up from the path and onto the nearest stacks of chairs. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We had gotten a little wet, Oliver put his arm around my shoulders, I moved closer to him and said “Lucky they left this up on Sunday” holding a side of the roll up door to the marquee.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> It was still sunny and the puddles at out feet were shimmering. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“No the crew didn’t leave them by mistake, its part of the wedding stuff that has started being delivered for Saturday”, he replied. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I looked up at him and straight into his brown eyes, suddenly serious we closed the gap between our heads; he putting his forehead down to mine nose to nose, then he kissed me, it was not for long, just enough to make us both shiver.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Pretending I was cold I moved slightly to zip my jacket, Oliver helped with the last few inches of the zipping, his hand was over mine and all the time he was looking into my eyes. Then he smiled, the rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started and he took my hand in his, we walked back out onto the glistening path. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I hope it doesn’t rain for those people’s wedding on Saturday” he said, “It’s actually a cousin of Liz that’s getting married” he added. I went cold, “Not Tristan” I asked in a rush.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“No, another cousin there are heaps of them, but would it have mattered if it was?” he queried standing still and looking at me as if he knew the thought had been heart stopping.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“No, no”, I was way too rattled even to my own ears, “it’s just that, well he’s the only cousin I knew about, I just assumed”. Oliver started walking again, he put his hands in his chino pockets, the tail of his chambray shirt had come out from the back top of his pants that sat low on his slim hips, he seemed thoughtful, then suddenly decided to cheer up. He turned to me put his arm across my shoulders and as we walked along the rest of the lake-side he was telling me about how his parents were such darlings and had converted one of the stable rows for him to have as both a private apartment and an office. As he talked, I realized that his background was very similar to mine; his dad was a lawyer, his mom an editor with a publishing house. He had a sister, Amy, two years older than him who was in South America on a gap year which had become two gap years, as she had begun working with an environment group out there. It was ok with his parents because she was actually living with his dad’s sister who had married another journalist (she was one too) and they had been correspondents out there for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I told him I had come across Will, John, and David all jamming in the middle dining room with my brother. I kept wondering how I could work in that I was meeting Tristan tomorrow but I felt I couldn’t, not now I had seemed alarmed it might have been him who was getting married. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Ah, Will”, Oliver said, “He was a year behind me in school, he is headed no doubt for an illustrious musical career” and then he smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Will is seriously talented, and it sounds like your brother Steven is too”, he continued.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Agreeing with him I said, “Steven loves music and I think does have real talent too, it’s not just about practice with him it’s almost second nature, he can pick up a tune from just a couple of hearings and play it on his guitar or piano”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Completing the path around the lake, we were on the edge of the restaurant garden again and the sun had started to go down, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I know it’s no distance but let me drop you home”, he said and we turned up the gravel area to go around the back and into the large car park area which was surrounded by clipped hedge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oliver opened the door of his Landrover for me and I climbed in. Once outside my front door, he leaned across to me, kissed the tip of my nose, then my lips. “ Tomorrow is a really mad day for me “ he said , “but I have Thursday morning and I really want to see you again soon , so could I pick you up and we could drive over to Princess Copse village there is an art exhibition there that I am sure you would love, it’s part of the district visual art festival”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I was touched by this thoughtfulness and accepted. I nudged his nose with mine as our faces were still close and kissed him lightly, sadly aware my intentions of telling him I was meeting with Tristan tomorrow had gone unfulfilled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Inside there was laughter from the kitchen and I went in to find Steven, Will, David and John were all still there, they had made an evening meal from rolls and salads and the cooked chicken that had been in the fridge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The huge jar of mayonnaise still out, David scooped an extra spoon onto the end of his roll. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Hello again” I said, taking a roll from the big packet on the work surface and splitting it to pile some of the sliced chicken and lettuce into it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Hi, Chloe, guess what, we are all playing at the wedding up at the restaurant for the reception” Steven said excitedly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Wow how has that happened?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Will and David had already been asked but then their pianist has been double booked by the agency, so after hearing me play, Will has asked me to join them. John is going to be there too as bass so that we can have a wider repertoire, so we will be practicing like mad over the next two days”, he took a breath. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“That’s exciting Steven, what will you do about the last two days of school for this week?” I ventured not wanting to put a dampener on them but just thinking about logistics. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Just by chance and so lucky, it’s teacher conference days, the whole school is closed to day students and the boarders have sports and an excursion with just two of the staff and some local parent helpers, isn’t that cool?” he whooped, “Yayha”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I laughed, it was cool, it was a dream start for Steven to his new life here, but then hadn’t mine also been charmed so far I thought. I finished my roll and made some tea asking Steven if he had seen mom and did he know what she was up to, apparently he had seen her once today, and she was engrossed in her work of course. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I asked the boys if they wanted any tea not expecting them to, but Will had some and I made some for mom so that on my way to my room I could drop it off and say hi to her. This is what I did. Knowing I was meeting Tristan tomorrow morning, I considered I might dash out to the retail park in the afternoon and get some shoes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Mom I will take the rental car tomorrow afternoon to do some shopping, is that ok?” I asked as I set the cup of tea down on her desk at arms length. She looked at me from her computer and said it was fine, be careful of the road sides. I smiled at this but knew what she meant. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">In my room I looked at my drawings that I had left on my desk side by side, from representational to abstracted, I looked at the posters from the museum shop again and my own photographs which I had printed out. They were a selection of the ones I took of Tristan at the waterfall; my heart sort of bumped a bit as I studied him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Turning away I checked my email and found some from my Californian friends accusing me of forgetting them already. I replied light heartedly and mentioned Oliver and how I was drawing and hoping to get into an art college here, but had not even looked any up to apply to as the move was still so hectic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I didn’t mention Tristan and in fact I felt protective of him, and his secret whatever it was. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I Googled the abbey by name but apart from copious hits regarding the ruins, this included what the museum now housed, sites which pointed to the corporate affairs there, sites which dealt with the dissolution, history of stained glass and so on there was really no mention of a legend, nor waterfall. I decided that I needed to put in a more esoteric search string and typed legends surrounding waterfalls united kingdom, the screen filled naturally what else did I expect, this place is so full of history. I put the string in again with the abbey name attached. Much less was returned and only a page really fit the bill and dealt only superficially with the fact that there was a legend but that it had been distorted so much with the passage of time that no one really knew what it was any more. The site also stated that it was worth visiting the ruins of the castle any way on a fine day the grounds of which contained the waterfall and the small river, which fed it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> What castle I thought checking that I had the right place; sure enough it was this abbey name and named the nearby large river too as well. This was puzzling where was this castle. I was so curious I went downstairs to check if Will was still around and ask if he or the other boys knew about a castle nearby, surely locals would be able to tell me. I was disappointed to find the kitchen empty; their car had gone as I looked out onto the drive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I went back to my room deciding not to disturb Steven, he would not know. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I had no name for the castle and was frankly tired now, so I left the search thinking I would ask Tristan all the questions I had tomorrow. I shut down my computer. There were lots of little bugs flying around in my room attracted by the light which had come in from outside through my open window. They were funny pink bodied little light-weight things I had never seen before, deciding that there were enough in the room I went to the window to close it, the light from a downstairs room pooled directly under my window and my light also helped light the immediate garden, but the rest was pitch black.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I looked up, there was no moon it had become really overcast and I thought we were probably in for more rain. It still smelled of rain on the night air from the rain we had received already.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I had not watched any TV since I came to England, which was an oddity for me, as I love TV really. I thought I would go downstairs to the small middle drawing room where we had our only TV and just watch something for an hour despite it was quite late and I was tired, for some reason I felt too edgy to sleep. The small drawing room has French windows that open onto the same patio as the kitchen ones do but further along it, it was still sultry and I opened one side of this door, a waft of jasmine came in. I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels until I found a program that seemed to be about making over girls who wore too much makeup. It sufficed to relax me enough for me to get a bottle of Evian from the fridge and go up to bed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Just before I got into bed knowing I would be unable to sleep without a little fresh air I turned off my light and went to open my window again. Taking my shoes from the windowsill where I had still left them, and putting them on the floor, I stood up to look out for a moment, with no moon I could see nothing really but I sensed there was someone out there. I had a torch by my bed, a habit from when some of the tremors we get back home had knocked out the power supply very occasionally, thank fully not often and went to get it. Since it was very powerful and could switch to a higher beam sort of like the ones you see in movies where FBI agents produce their torches from nowhere to enter forbidding buildings. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">At the window I aimed the powerful beam around, it was surprisingly revealing like a searchlight, when I aimed at the edge of the wood where I felt I would see someone or thing I got the tiniest glimpse of movement because as good as my torch was its’ light failed by then and there was really only gloom. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">What was out there would have gone now anyway with me aiming light around like some idiot, I sighed. I must be losing my grip I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">From <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Spellbinding Book one of The Seven Spell Saga copyright 2010 Tessa Stokes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-size: large; font-weight: 800;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">The Spell Breaker book two of The Seven Spell Saga<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Chapter Three<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">The next morning I was at the greenhouses ten minutes early, so was Tristan. I laughed at him as I said, he was early and he said so was I.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He kissed me and hugged me,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“I hope that this is not really horrible Chloe”, he said as he took my hand and we went into the big Dearing house and up to his room. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We looked out of the huge window to the right and down onto the car parking area. I was standing there thinking what will happen, Tristan went to his desk area and brought a paper with him, he gave it to me and put his arm around my shoulder. I leaned in to him as I read the paper; it was information about the marketing of the craft experience that Jack wanted to get going. The company Tarrant, Tarrant and Travis were engaged and the team assigned was headed by husband and wife team, Thomas Travis and Annabelle Tarrant. I looked at the words, husband, and wife a few times, maybe this was Oliver. I read a short description of their talents and what they could offer the Dearings as clients. The schedule of meetings and then deadlines was printed at the bottom. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Tristan said that the notes about the first meeting were with Liz, and this was a copy of information he thought might be of use to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Tristan suddenly called out they are here and I looked up from reading to see a silver four wheel drive pull up in the car park.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We stared down, I didn’t think they would see us, we were quite high up and unless they stood staring up around themselves we were probably safe. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">A man maybe in his late forties got out of the drivers side, he was wearing a business suit, a woman got out of the passenger seat, she had blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail and a cream skirt suit on, and she too was in her forties. They looked like a professional couple on business, which they were. The man had a briefcase and was saying something to the woman when the back door of the car opened and out of it climbed a young man. Tall as he stood up, slim, blonde spiky hair, black business suit and a lap top. It looked as if we had found Oliver.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I gasped and Tristan said, “Mmmmm, I think that’s him. Yes I’m sure of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I was watching Oliver walk behind the other two people towards the big main door of the house; it was like a dream. I wanted to run down and hug him and say Oliver remember me. I turned instead to Tristan as they had disappeared from view and put my head on his chest. He held me close for a moment and then he asked if I was ok. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We sat on Tristan’s bed and planned what to do next.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Do you think Liz will show some surprise or try to get him to know her? In this meeting I mean?” I asked Tristan<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“No, we talked about that and agreed she should simply act as if she has never met him, which she hasn’t because he’s not Oliver remember. She is going to get as much information as possible without looking suspicious. We thought when we talked about it, that he was going to be Thomas Travis, not front up exactly like Oliver, so I hope she can do that”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I felt a bit sad and told Tristan that I could hardly wait to find out what Liz knew from this meeting. He got up and after pacing up and down for a minute he went to the door at the end of his room and made coffee. I wandered down there to look what it was; it was a sort of tiny kitchen in a cupboard. I looked around thinking his bathroom must be through the other door. His room had books and music very neatly arranged on two shelves, his desk was set up to catch the light from the big windows. I wandered back to the windows and Tristan came to stand next to me drinking coffee. I don’t know if it reminded him of being there with Oliver but it reminded me and when Tristan’s cell phone rang, it was almost a replay of the scene but without Oliver.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Tristan looked at me with a sort of kind questioning look as he walked to the desk and picked up his phone. It was business and he finished the call quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“That was the florist for tomorrow’s wedding they need more white flowers, I have Baby’s breath in the garden next to the greenhouses. Seems like a field of them so I will go and cut it and get that to the florist. Come with me Chloe, this meeting may go on for hours; there was some talk of a break for morning tea. Let’s not just wait here counting the minutes”. He had put down his coffee cup on his desk and held out his hand to me, I took it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“You are right Tristan it’s a bit agonizing especially when the guy looks like Oliver but we don’t know what his name is or anything. It will be better to go and do something”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We went off to the greenhouses, once there Tristan got some kind of pruning shears and we walked around to the bed of white flowers he had talked of. The flowers were tiny and white but there were masses of them on the stalk and the effect was really pretty. He cut what seemed to me like a huge amount and put them in one of the long boxes I had seen him use before. He did this twice and then we walked down to his truck and he put them on the back seat. Did everything have to remind me of Oliver, the springs and the torn seat material of the back seat set off the memory of taking him out of that building where Max had him tied and drugged. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I needed to start calling Max, Rene, I thought as Tristan opened the door for me and held my hand as I got in the truck. He went around to the driver’s side and we were soon on our way to the florist. This turned out to be in the next village but one, and right next door to a bridal shop which I thought was genius logistics. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">When Tristan had delivered the flowers he swung the truck out into the flow of traffic and circled the village via another parallel road. We had turned around to go back the way we had come via this maneuver.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">On the way back Tristan asked me how it had felt to see Oliver and I said it was weird, which it was, but it was also heart stopping and I didn’t say that.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We reached the Dearing house really quickly and I thought we would have a heap of time to wait to find out anything from Liz, but no sooner were we up in Tristan’s room than she was knocking on the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Tristan opened the door at the same time as saying come in, and she came in and saw me standing by the window. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Hello Chloe, I didn’t realize you were here”, she looked sympathetically at me, and my heart lurched because I thought she is going to say something terrible about Oliver.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Hello Liz, how are you doing did you come to tell us about the meeting?” I just went straight to the point.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"> Tristan was looking at her and lifted his hands in a well tell us gesture.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I smiled at this and Liz said, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“He had no idea who I was, he is still called Oliver, Annabelle, and Thomas are his parents. They introduced him as ‘our son, Oliver Tarrant', and he will be doing some of the marketing campaign as well as designing the web pages for the new venture ready for our technology people to add to the existing one. When we had coffee he said his mum uses her maiden name as she and her sister Amanda founded the marketing consultancy years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">They moved up from <st1:place w:st="on">Dorset</st1:place> to this area before he was born, and get this, his grandfather is called Richard. That’s Tarrant, Annabelle and Amanda’s father”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“You found out all this at the coffee break?” Tristan asked with raised eyebrows.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Look I just wanted to establish a connection. I thought you’d be pleased. Oh and they just moved to their new offices in Haddeningham plus the reason you couldn’t find a business in Oxfordshire for them is, that’s the next county”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I cursed inwardly because I would normally have widened my search, but at that time, the grief over Oliver had just shut me down.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Tristan came to me and put his arm around my shoulders, turning to Liz he asked,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“What’s the story on the next meeting it looked like next Friday on the schedule from out of that folder Liz?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Well yes, sorry, I mean what can we do, the guy has a totally different life, he looks like our Oliver, and I think he would be the same age. I don’t know what you plan to do but you can’t just be going up to him and saying hey Oliver we went back in time and changed your life but you used to live nearby and had your own IT business and a stable conversion”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Liz went and sat on the desk chair and Tristan sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“I know it, we know that, I don’t know what the plan is, or if there is even one”. And he tightened his arm around my shoulders, like a half hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Sorry Liz, I know it’s hard, I just think it will be the spookiest thing if any of the others run into him. I don’t know if we have a plan, not now I have seen him. Maybe we just have to let him go.” I said this but the pain I felt at this prospect was just devastating. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">An idea came to me, maybe I could just secretly watch him, from a distance, which sounds suspiciously like stalking but that’s not what I meant. Naturally, I did not voice this idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Liz said she had to be going but that any information she gathered she would pass on to us, and by the way the clothes and stuff I had left after my trip into the past had been disposed of, she hoped I did not mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I assured her I didn’t and she smiled a little at me, then she came over and actually hugged both Tristan and I together so that we were in a little circle. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">When she had gone Tristan was really quiet, he had let go of me and walked over to his desk. He just leaned against it for a few moments. I stood watching him, I had no idea what to say or do now. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">His lovely dark hair fell over into his eyes and he looked like a beautiful work of art leaning there. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He looked up,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“You still love Oliver don’t you?” he asked me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“I loved the Oliver we had before, I don’t know this Oliver, and more to the point he does not know me. The sight of him is painful yes but he’s lost to us as a friend or anything else, well that’s how it seems”. My voice wavered a little then and Tristan stood up and came to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“I think in retrospect it was Oliver that you loved most of all, I can see the pain in your eyes when you talk about him; I know when you are thinking about him because the same pain is there then.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I am thinking of going to Aristide and asking him if there is anything that can be done about the situation”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I stopped him from saying any more, clutching his hand,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“No please Tristan it might draw attention to you, and I doubt anything can be done. Don’t get involved with them again; you just do not know what might happen. I love you, and I don’t want anything to happen to you”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He sort of smiled, as if he wanted to but couldn’t let himself and then he nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 351.0pt; text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Let’s go and get lunch Chloe, it’s quite late, let’s go into the village and sit in the sunshine”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I could tell Tristan wanted to cheer me up. I agreed and we started down the stairs to the truck.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">On the drive into the village Tristan was too quiet, it felt as if there was something between us unsaid, something had broken. I wanted to fix it,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Tristan you know I desperately do not want anything to happen to you for your own sake if not mine, don’t go to the Magus, promise me”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Tristan glanced at me and shook his head, this time really smiling,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“I will not go to the Magus, I promise”, he said and as we parked in the library car park and he came around to my side of the truck to get me out I put my arms around him kissing him. I kissed him a lot; he kissed me back and we stayed hugging each other for what seemed like a long time. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We finally closed the truck up and walked around the corner and down the street to the café where the ghost of Oliver would always be sitting at a table waiting for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">It took me a couple of minutes to realize this was not in my imagination, Oliver was at one of the tables, he and his parents were sitting there with coffee cups in front of them and the laptop was open on the middle of the table. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">At the same time both Tristan and I stopped walking. We looked at each other and then we went to a table close to the actual café entrance, at a distance from the table where Oliver was sitting. We were sitting opposite each other; I was facing outwards so that I could see Oliver. Tristan was watching me, I kept my eyes on his face, his gorgeous navy blue eyes and I leaned forward and put my hands across the table to have him hold them. He leaned over and took my hands. I wanted to keep him safe, to make sure he knew I did love him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“This has to be some kind of bizarre twist that we find Oliver here”, he said just as someone came to take our order. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">When we were alone again I answered that it was extraordinary but at the same time it was lovely weather and this village was on the route to their office maybe they just stopped for coffee in the sun.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Tristan had a sad look in his eyes and I looked down at my hands and then back up at him. What I really saw was Oliver over his shoulder and this Oliver was closing the lid of the laptop and at the same time staring straight at me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We held each other’s eyes until he stood up, and picked up the laptop from the table. He only stopped looking at me when he put the machine in the sleeve he was holding and zipped it up.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I flicked my eyes to Tristan’s face, he was looking down at the table, when he looked up I smiled at him. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He smiled back a little sadly. The order came and I found I had to push my food around the plate, as I couldn’t eat. When we left the café, I noticed that was exactly what Tristan had done too. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">At the truck I hugged Tristan again, but something had happened to him, he was wary and it almost felt as if he was distancing himself from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">The drive back home was short and mercifully so, as Tristan had fallen silent. In my driveway he kissed my cheek even though I tried to get closer to him he leaned away and said he did still have some work to do and would call.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">In my room I looked at the photographs of Oliver I had printed out and I took them down and placed them with my drawings and other print outs. I went to lay on my bed because I hadn’t had any proper sleep for days.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I sighed as I suddenly realized how bad my own behaviour could be seen; being in love with both Oliver and Tristan and then continuing on that path even when one of them was living a different life and the other loved me. I was not a nice person; it was horrible of me and weird really in a way not clear to me. I had chosen neither Oliver nor Tristan before this miserable spell stuff had happened, and now there was no choice. The whole thing had been sorted out by life for me; I would have to accept that. I closed my eyes and I could see the new Oliver as he stared at me this afternoon at the café.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Mom insisted that Steven and I have dinner with her around the big table in the kitchen that evening; she said we hardly ever saw each other let alone ate together. That was true and we had a good time really catching up with where she was with her work and what Steven was doing with his music and the band. It was only when she asked me where that lovely Oliver was, the one I was friends with before I went to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Cornwall</st1:place></st1:city>, that I stopped enjoying the time we were having together. I said he seemed to have got work somewhere and that he even had moved, the whole family have, I added for effect. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We had lemon meringue for pudding which I had the tiniest piece of so mom would not fuss but I finished up quickly and said I would load the dish washer. Steven wanted to practice a little in the library that he had commandeered as a rehearsal place and went off. Mom waited until he had gone and then asked if I was upset about Oliver as we had seemed very close. I told her I was a little upset but really what was I thinking of when I had Tristan who was lovely and really cared for me. Mom said there’s no law against liking two boys, it’s only if you married the two of them and we laughed a little together.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I finished loading the dishwasher, and I helped mom take the laundry out of the washing machine and we put it in the drier. She told me that the dig under the house was finished, Jack had said don’t bother going on to find the exit to the tunnel that it might compromise the buildings foundations. The team was packing up tomorrow and the fireplace would have a glass back. It could never be used as a fireplace and the wall painting would be accessed at any time with the glass door. The junction of the lawn and the building had a special channel now to run the rain that would have poured in down to the flower beds.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I was surprised that all this had happened and yet it seemed like years since Oliver and I had found the rain leaking in.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">That memory was like broken glass in my heart, there were tears forming in my eyes, and I went away to the kitchen where mom could not see my face. I started to boil the kettle and asked mom if she would like coffee or some tea maybe; anything to stop the tears from falling. I made us both tea and she kissed my cheek saying off to the office for a spot of work.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">She didn’t know enough about the situation to know how serious it all was, and that was ok she couldn’t be allowed to know.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"> I took my cup up to my room and found myself staring out at the night from my window again. It was remarkably warm, humid even, I hoped it would not rain the next day because I wanted to go some where, just go off, and maybe wander around the shops or something uncomplicated, on my own. I stood there for a long time as the moon went behind the clouds and it became even darker. The pools of yellow and white light from the garden lights could not compete with the darkness cast by the cloudy moonless sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">When I went to bed I could not sleep again, and it was dawn before I fell into an uneasy sleep, which only lasted a couple of hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">So it was early when I woke up.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">After showering, I took my old phone which I had charged, knowing I preferred it over the new one, gathered up my keys and cards and went downstairs intending to go out.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">The team was packing up the technical gear from the big drawing room and I held the door for one of them who was carrying a big spotlight on a stand. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Driving along I passed the three closest villages and went on into the town where some of the nicer shops were to browse in. There was a big shopping mall in another town in the opposite direction but I just wanted to walk down the same streets Oliver and had walked down; I wanted to try to let go of him. It was madness to search for something that no longer existed and in doing so, drive away Tristan who loved me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">There was a food festival on and lots of stalls, food and other items plus musicians all over the market square.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">It was good to be amongst this, lots of people and noise.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I turned down the high street after a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I had been wandering around the shops for about an hour and went into the shop where I had found such nice t-shirts before. I looked along the racks of dresses and saw one that I really liked. Maybe I could try it on; I picked it up and went to the fitting room. The dress looked good, I had grown for sure just a bit but it was a help, maybe I was really just destined not to be very tall. The colour was a purple violet and not something I wore much of and I was surprised how much it suited me. Deciding to buy it I joined the line up to pay. I took out my phone and checked for messages, nothing. I had the phone in one hand and the dress in the other, a familiar voice from behind me said, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“The girl from the café, I recognize that phone, I feel sure I just posted that or one very like it back to it’s rightful owner”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I was almost overwhelmed by this; I turned around. Oliver was standing there; he was holding a pair of jeans. This was not even déjà vu this was unbelievable and spooky in the extreme. He must have thought I disliked his approach because he continued,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Sorry, really it’s not a line; I did post a phone just like yours to someone only a few days ago. I did see you in a café only yesterday didn’t I?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">Incredibly, he was looking at me in just the same way Oliver had looked at me when we first met, back there in my dad’s restaurant during the new wait staff break. He wanted to continue to talk to me. Except that I had said nothing. Finally I found I could speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Hello, yes, I did see you yesterday at the café and this is the phone you posted back”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">His smile was just as heart melting as ever and he introduced himself,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Oliver Tarrant”, he said, “you must be a Dearing since you got the phone and since that’s where I must have got it from in the first place”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We moved up two places in the queue to pay and I answered him, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“No, I do know the Dearings but I am not one of them, my name is Chloe, Chloe McGarry. Where did you find my phone?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">It was our turn to pay and we did this then Oliver said,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Let me tell you about the phone, will you come and have coffee with me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I said yes. The coffee shop was not far away and we went into it, as I was standing next to Oliver he turned to me and asked, “Was it tea you preferred?” I nodded because really how much more weird was this going to get, how did he know this?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We went to sit at a table out on the pavement under the awning and I put the bag with the dress in it down by the side of the tea I had. Oliver sitting opposite me was smiling in the same old lovely way,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“The phone just turned up in my jacket pocket, the one I had worn to the first meeting with Jack Dearing, and I thought somehow I had picked his up from the table we had been sitting at. So if you are not a Dearing how come your phone was in Jack’s office?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I was watching him as he spoke; his tiny scar was back under his left eye high on his cheek bone. His slightly tanned skin and blonde hair were exactly the same; his lovely kind brown eyes sparkled at me. He was flirting with me I realized and I answered him with the only thing I could think of.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“I had visited Liz and left it there by accident I guess just the same way you picked it up”, I smiled at him, I couldn’t help it. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“Well sorry to have deprived you of your phone for a few days Chloe”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“No that’s ok it was an accident”, I said not really knowing how to continue the conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“A happy accident since it gave me a good excuse to talk to you back there in the shop”, he smiled again and then drank some of his coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“It was interesting how you knew I drank tea Oliver”, I said to him. Something was odd about that and I needed to know how he knew.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“I just felt that, yeah that just came to me, good guess huh?” and he was smiling again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I wanted to tread carefully and at the same time I felt like hugging him and telling him how much I had missed him. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He was watching me too and he suddenly said,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“We haven’t met anywhere before have we?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">At first I thought if I answered that it would have to be with a lie and then I realized that was not really so, this was a different Oliver I could say no and so I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He started to tell me he was doing a little freelance work outside of his work in his parents business, that he was really interested in starting an offshoot business in the IT field. He was still studying marketing part time and he was doing this for his parents but it wasn’t his first love, and really he didn’t like it all that much.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I was like a rabbit in the headlights, just glued to his voice and his gorgeous familiar face. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I sat there and drank it in, here was Oliver talking to me and telling me about himself. He was attracted to me just like before, it’s meant to be I told myself as I watched him. I had forgotten the idea of letting him go.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">He asked me what I did with my time and I found that incredibly funny, the word time especially. I told him about my designs and he said he would look at the website. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We had long since finished our drinks and he took out his mobile and looked at the time. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">“I don’t really want to go but I have to, do you think you could meet me tomorrow. I will be here seeing a client and we could have lunch or just coffee, if you’d like”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I certainly would like I thought and I said that would be really cool. We arranged to meet here at this coffee shop around one thirty. As I picked up the shopping bag and put my phone in the back pocket of my jeans he said no wait lets exchange numbers just in case. So we did that and then he leaned forward and giving me a look which was like a kiss he picked up his own shopping, turned to me again and this time brushed a kiss across my cheek like an old friend does. It was both ordinary as if from an old friend and moving at the same time. Our eyes met afterwards and I saw the kiss had affected him too.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">We went in opposite directions. The shoe shop was close by and I went in there to buy some shoes that had a bit more of a heel on them than the shoes I had at home. I had grown but not enough I thought. I found some blue shoes that were perfect which was a first for me because as you know I can never find shoes usually.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">When I got home music was coming from the library, Steven and John and David were in there. I looked in on them and then took my shopping up to my room. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">It was hard to think straight and I felt so incredibly happy I was surprised by it. I knew it was because I had met Oliver again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">I was so happy I put together another design for stained glass and emailed it to Joshua Glazer. It was late when I had finished and I decided to get to bed in the hope that I would sleep that night.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 25.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">As I opened my window a little wider to let more of the warm night air in I thought there was an extra shadow at the edge of the garden, not even as far away as the beginning of the wood, though I could see that far now with not much light at all. If it was Tristan he must be back to his night wandering. He had not contacted me at all today and although I wanted to at least send him a goodnight message, I still had that sense of distancing he had given me the day before. It was strange to say the least considering all we had been through together. I wondered as I fell asleep what was really going on. The last thought I had was of Oliver and his enchanting smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">From The Spell Breaker, book two in The Seven Spell Saga copyright Tessa Stokes 2010 <a href="http://www.tessastokes.info/">http://www.tessastokes.info</a><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">The Seven Spell book three of The Seven Spell Saga<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter Three<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">I was late getting to bed because I was absorbed in my work for Joshua Glazer and probably had only been asleep for a couple of hours when I heard a horse whinny and there was a bit of racket under my window. The day had been lovely, sunny, and still warm; I had my window open for some cooler night air. Surfacing from a dream I didn’t remember, I went to the window. Tristan was making a lot more noise than usual with Cedric.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">I hung out of my window ready to say shush, and on the lawn, now grazing quietly, a black horse, you know which horse, I don’t have to tell you, but I will, Matin. He still had reins hanging from his neck; they seemed to simply dangle from a v-shaped strapping so he had no bit in his mouth. The v-shaped strapping went around his neck and the top of his front legs and met in a diamond shape on his chest, it looked more like decoration than reins. Maybe that’s how Gui led the horses on one of these strapping things whilst he rode a different horse. I thought this as I got my jeans and a shirt, taking my cell phone I went down to Matin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">As I went through the middle drawing room to the French doors there, I checked the time on my cell, <st1:time hour="2" minute="32" w:st="on">two thirty two</st1:time>, so much for the time travel passage only being open at <st1:time hour="7" minute="0" w:st="on">seven o’clock</st1:time>, that theory was dead in the water.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">I approached Matin, talking to him as I had done back in time near that Smithy when Tristan had been gone sword fighting for money. I think he recognized me, he looked up and at me sideways, I turned away from him to show him I meant no harm then I went towards him again, he took a couple of steps towards me and snorted. I turned away again, if he reared up that was it I was going indoors. When I looked around again and went to him, he followed me, sort of turned to meet me, and walked at my shoulder. I was really impressed by this and took hold of the strapping, which turned out not to be leather but some kind of woven cloth; it had patterns on it like a guitar strap. I said him, Matin you are such a lovely horse I bet you would like a bit more than grass to eat tonight, and I called Tristan; after all I had no stable at the back of the house not in this time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">Tristan answered his phone after only about three rings, did he ever sleep, but I still apologized for the hour of my call and told him Matin was on the lawn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“No”, he said and then, “we were wrong about the <st1:time hour="7" minute="0" w:st="on">seven o’clock</st1:time> thing then, can you manage him, I will be over as soon as I can. Sorry Chloe”. He sounded a little down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Don’t be sorry Tristan it’s not something you have done, its ok; he’s happy eating grass at the moment”. I rang off and as I put my phone in my pocket dad appeared at the French doors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Chloe what’s going on, is that a horse?” dad was a bit sleepy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Dad, hi, yes its Matin he’s got out of the Dearing stables somehow, I know him; I just rang Tristan”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Oh, so are you ok, can I help, how long will Tristan be?” dad yawned, he looked tired.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Dad its ok really, Tristan will be here soon, he will come through the wood possibly on another horse, seriously you can go back to bed; everything is fine. Matin fortunately woke me up playing on the lawn, he’s a valuable horse”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I will go back to bed if you are sure everything is ok, I have to be up again in about three hours; we have a lot of work on in the next few days over and above opening for usual service, plus Steven and Will’s birthday party soon. Sure you are ok?” dad was rubbing his eyes and had stepped back into the house, his feet were bare; I smiled at him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Dad, go back to bed everything is really ok and under control, see how Matin is just standing here with me, he’s a good horse”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">Dad went off to bed and I decided to start walking to the edge of the wood with Matin, he followed peacefully, giving the occasional funny soft grunt type noise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">As I had thought, Tristan came out of the woods but not on Cedric, just striding along, in his jeans and riding boots and a tartan shirt I had not seen before.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">I stopped and waited for him to get to me and the horse, I didn’t want Matin bolting. Instead, the horse whinnied and walked towards Tristan sort of nudging me along with his shoulder. I laughed at this, and Tristan got hold of the strapping, patting the horse and saying things to him in his Norman French.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“So what about this then Tristan, he’s a smart cookie to get here from the pool, maybe he expected to find the hunting lodge, he must have scrambled up the bank”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">Tristan had been checking the horse out, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, he has a few but really minor scratches; he could have got them anywhere, the holly tree maybe. A horse would have no trouble getting here from the waterfall, I’m just surprised he knew the way, but then maybe he fluked it”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I wonder what time he came through, I found him at <st1:time hour="2" minute="30" w:st="on">two thirty</st1:time>, so there’s another opening we didn’t factor in, or”. I was calculating how many hours between seven and <st1:time hour="2" minute="30" w:st="on">two thirty</st1:time>, “if he wandered about for a half hour before I found him which is feasible it could be there was an opening at two, which is seven hours after the <st1:time hour="7" minute="0" w:st="on">seven o’clock</st1:time> slot”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Damn it, I so hoped we only had to deal with seven o’clock at night, perhaps that means there is an opening every seven hours”. Tristan was visibly disappointed. I went to him and put my arm around his waist as he stood by Matin, “Tristan if it’s every seven hours that’s at least better than being some random permutation we can’t even guess at”. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">He was looking at Matin, and then turned to me and put his free arm around me, “You are right about that, if it is every seven hours, I hope it is, I don’t feel I can cope with some random occurring thing”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">I hugged him a little, “Tristan whatever there is to cope with you have Oliver and I to help, you do know that”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">He nodded but I could tell he was tired and dispirited.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Tristan would you like me to walk back with you and Matin, to the stables?” I asked him; I felt he needed company.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“It’s so late Chloe, I feel bad about it”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I will, I would like to, come on”, I said, and since I had my arm around him my setting off walking got him walking too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">We reached the edge of the woods and Tristan changed his mind, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Chloe its dark in here, Cedric knows his way but maybe Matin doesn’t. I think you need to go home. I will ring you tomorrow, ok?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">It wasn’t ok, I wanted to help, but telling him if that was what he wanted, ok then, I turned to go, I reached up and kissed his cheek and he moved his face to kiss me back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">I walked back to the house, I had opened the French windows, and stepped inside, I turned to lock them, and I saw Tristan was still there, at the edge of the wood watching me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">I went up to my room, and looked out of my window; he and Matin had gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">The whole episode had unsettled me, I went into my bathroom and washed my hands, my feet were cold, and I put them one at a time under my shower to warm up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">It was nearly light when I fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">From,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB">The Seven Spell book three of The Seven Spell Saga copyright Tessa Stokes 2011<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://www.tessastokes.info/">http://www.tessastokes.info</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"> <div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The Sealed Door book four of The Seven Spell Saga<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Chapter One<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Mr Dearing how very opportune you are here, we have drilled a camera hole in the sealed door area, and I have to say what we can see from just this first glimpse is totally fascinating”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Don was smiling and leaning forward to shake Tristan’s hand and at the same time, you could tell he wanted Tristan to follow him to the tunnel. He angled his body towards the kitchen door saying, “If you have the time I can show you the view we have with the camera, there appears to be another sealed door at the end of a chamber, tunnel like chamber” he amended, continuing. “There is a water feature of some kind; well a small pool and a place that looks like it could be a drinking fountain, in modern terms”. He was jubilant and I smiled at his enthusiasm watching him almost bouncing on the spot, with each piece of information he gave Tristan.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“That sounds intriguing” Tristan replied and indicated his intention to follow Don by stepping towards the kitchen door.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I do have time and would love to look” he and Don were already through the kitchen door and striding down the corridor. I followed to the edge of the big drawing room and then waited to be invited further.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan and Don were bent over the screen of a laptop computer, Lily was at the keyboard of another laptop and she turned to me saying I could look too, “Chloe is interested too Don, that’s ok she looks, come over Chloe”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I went over to Lily and looked at the screen; it was a dimly lit picture of the interior of the chamber, as Don had called it. I thought more like a tunnel and I could see the water feature he had mentioned only as a pool of some kind to the left of the screen. At the end of this tunnel was another closed up door, it seemed like it was made of soil or was stone columns covered in soil; it was hard to see for me anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Right then more light came from somewhere and the picture on the screen was much more distinct. I could see the tunnel or chamber whichever they decided to call it, had another opening leading off it to the right; it was just the entrance that was visible. The drinking fountain feature that Don had talked about was more visible now on the left, but only because water seemed to be trickling like a slow mini waterfall over the side of a carved stone area, into the small pool below. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It was all, as Don had put it, totally fascinating; what had me in awe was that it was below where I lived, well I think it was, what room would be over it, I wondered.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“What do you think of it Mr Dearing, worth taking a few stones out of the tunnel wall and going into this chamber or tunnel?” Don addressed Tristan who was still glued to the picture on the laptop.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It had been Stefan who had lit up the chamber a little more, as he now came from the fireplace saying, “Hello, how do you like that?” he was beaming his excitement too.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He was carrying a computer, about half the size of my netbook in his hand, and clearly had been able to see what we could, as he raised it slightly and turned the screen at us.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I smiled at him, “It’s amazing” I said; even if he had not been speaking to me, I couldn’t help but voice this.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Isn’t it?” Lily added nodding and smiling at everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I stood back from her as Tristan said, “Go right ahead and make room to get through the sealed door to the chamber, I can hardly wait to walk in there myself, I can’t believe I didn’t know about it in all these”. Tristan sort of cleared his throat and then continued, “Where do you suppose it is, under the kitchen or what? Well it must be under the garden don’t you think?” and he turned to Don who was so excited he couldn’t stop smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“We’ll get ‘geo phys’ in the garden because it looks like it may go that way, although you could be right, it may be under the kitchen, it’s hard to orientate right now”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan was smiling too, “Please call me Tristan; sorry I don’t know anyone’s first name”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Don supplied his own name and then introduced Lily and Stefan, Tristan nodded at each of them and they smiled back. He added that James Parker would be with them tomorrow and Leslie from the last dig. Tristan was smiling as he told Don he knew James and Leslie of course. Then he looked from one to the other of them, “I must apologise and leave you to it now, I have to get back to work, but as soon as you have breached the sealed door and can walk in the chamber let me know I would love to go in”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Don was nodding “Naturally we will keep you totally up to date, Tristan”. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan looked my way and I gave them a little wave and went ahead of him up the long hallway to the kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Once there Tristan put his arms around my waist holding me close, he kissed me on the side of my neck and then the side of my mouth, I was smiling and moved to kiss him too. He kissed my lips gently and then leaned a little away from me to look into my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I can’t believe what they found, I very nearly gave my age away in there and said I had no idea it was there, for the last eight hundred years”. He was smiling and his eyes were very blue, the kiss we had exchanged just before Don’s arrival in the kitchen had been melting, and I was feeling very in love with Tristan. I didn’t reply straight away, but kissed him again and then said almost against his lips, “I noticed that; I think this is an amazing find, where do you suppose the water comes from?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He hugged me and then we drew apart, “Well it must just be some spring that comes out of the rock down there, there’s no sign of damp in the house is there? I know it’s very well heated, you know I made sure the central heating was a really good installation, with plenty of radiators.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I laughed at his seriousness, “It’s great Tristan, not that we are using it yet but I guess in a few weeks time. Oh no wait a minute, mom did have it on for two days that really rainy week after the big drawing room had flooded, it’s excellent. I nearly boiled before I discovered I could turn down my radiators, with that silver dial thing”. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He had walked to the French door and was now standing looking out at the garden with his hands in his pockets he looked thoughtful.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Why don’t I know about that tunnel, I must have passed the sealed door behind one of the tapestries back in the eleven hundreds, just as I did the secret box in the tunnel? Weird stuff, don’t you think?” he had turned to me as I reached him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I seem to have been going around with my eyes closed back then, and er, I think I’ve said that before” he laughed. I looked at him and smiled a little, “You weren’t looking for secrets then; you know just living your life as a young person, unaware of the intrigue that was going on or whatever”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He took my hands and put them against his chest “Chloe, you always comfort me, you never see any fault in me, but I was spoilt back then, maybe arrogant too, that’s why I crossed the river where I did. I just assumed I would be safe, that the ice would be just the way it always was; I was untouchable.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He started to laugh again, “The good freezing I got cured me of that notion”. I put my hands up around his face and kissed him quickly, “Do you have to go back to work like you told Don?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He smiled, “I do in fact, but I can be convinced to have coffee and cuddle up to you for a while longer”. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Maybe I could just come up to the greenhouses with you; it would be nice to watch you work for a while”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Would it?” he looked surprised.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Oh yes” I replied, I just didn’t want to be apart from him right then.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“What about Don and company?” he wanted me with him, I could tell from his expression.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I’ll just go and tell them I have to go out for while and ask when they plan to leave, if they are anything like last time, it will be about seven tonight”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I left him in the kitchen and scooted down to see Don, or Lily, whoever was available. Lily was alone in the drawing room; the men must be down in the tunnel. As I got close, I could see them on her computer screen, they were working on the sealed door in the tunnel. Already having made a column shaped opening and a carefully placed stack of stones was evident on the floor of the tunnel.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Lily, I need to go out for a while, when are you planning on leaving?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">She turned to me, “About six I think, is that ok?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I was nodding, “Sure, I will only be a couple of hours at the most and my brother Steven may come home soon, please help yourselves to tea, coffee, and there are cakes, biscuits and stuff in the fridge if you want anything”. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I smiled and left her going quickly back to Tristan, I took his hand, and we went out to the old truck he was using that day.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It was easy to kiss his cheek through the open window, as he was about to close the truck door, when I had gotten into the passenger side. He sighed and smiled as he closed the door. When he was in the driver side, he leaned over and kissed me “I seem to be unable to stop kissing you today, but then you are kissing me back,” he said smiling again as he let go of me and started the engine. I just grinned and looked out of the window.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan parked in the end of the Dearing house car park telling me,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“The tiny parking space by the greenhouse is already full, and Jo has the trailer in there today in order to load the conifer order. So we will walk from here”. He was still smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I got out of the truck, but Tristan came around to me and put his arm around my shoulders as we walked over to the greenhouses. It was just far enough for us to discuss the new tunnel-chamber some more<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Tristan I can’t help feeling that tunnel-chamber will hold some mystery since you know nothing of it”. I said, and he inclined his head to me, and slowing down hugged me a little closer, “Maybe it will, but at least on first glance there is no giant portrait of my father’s secret love interest”. He kissed my temple and I smiled, “That’s true”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">When we reached the greenhouses, I could see two people in the first one, they had the side sliding doors open and were loading what looked like tiny empty pots arranged in rows in large flat boxes. They brought these into the greenhouse and placed them along the workbenches in there. Tristan called out to them, “Jo, Andy how’s it going, did you get all the conifers loaded?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">A tall red headed girl, her long ponytail swinging as she turned sharply to answer Tristan called back, “We did, since you seemed to have gone for the afternoon. Andy thought we would do you the favour of bringing over the seedlings as well”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan laughed, “Thank you both, I really appreciate the help, I have to go out to the White Wood greenhouses later, and cut some flowers for the weekend wedding order”. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The man with the girl, who I assumed was Andy, waited for Tristan and I to get closer then said, “Pleasure Tristan, we’ll finish this, there are quite a few more trays, and then we will get off home if that’s ok?” He was smiling and had dimples in each cheek, one of which made a crease right down the cheek. He smiled at me too and nodded, Tristan told them who I was, and Jo called hello from outside the greenhouse. Andy smiled more as Tristan answered his original question, “Thanks for this; it will be fine for you to get going I will be here until late now, see you tomorrow”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We left that greenhouse and went into the second one, this was much longer, and Tristan stopped here and there to pinch out a leaf or turn a pot around. He was talking about the flowers for the wedding saying he couldn’t get the exact shade of pink that the florist wanted, in the rose they requested, but had been over there yesterday to show him a different breed, that was actually more vibrant. When he stopped for breath, I asked him about the White Wood greenhouses.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Tristan, I didn’t realize you had more greenhouses, I thought the White Wood area had been made into the car park for the arts holiday accommodation”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He turned around gracefully to face me and opened his arms to hold me. “Yes the space there by the house side of the woods is the car park, but through the woods are four more greenhouses. We used to own a house and the land it was on as well and the greenhouses were fenced off for us to keep as they are part of the whole business, but the house and the land beyond that was sold”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Oh, what about the woods are they still part of the Dearing estate?” I remembered him saying something had been sold that he had not wanted to lose and I wondered if this was it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“They are, because it’s part of a reforestation agreement we have with the county forestry commission, that what we use we have to replace, which is cool, I think”. He smiled at me as I watched him talk; I wanted to kiss him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“It is cool Tristan, and could I just ask is that house and the land the place you once referred to as having been sold by Jack. Don’t answer if you don’t want to”. I added this as an emotion went across his face that was hard to interpret.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Yes it was Chloe, it was where I was living, and it was supposed to be agreed that I could live there, since I run the horticultural part of the business, but it got sold and I’m over it. I kind of like my room in the big house now but anyway since I have actually bought the stables, I can live there if needs be. I wasn’t impressed at the time, I had a sneaking suspicion Jack had done it not just for the money, but also to have me less independent. I was probably wrong; in retrospect, it more than likely was just the money”. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I didn’t answer, but I was thinking Jack has had a lot of different motives for things, and maybe all of them factored in what he did. I just looked into Tristan’s eyes and his expression softened, he put his forehead against mine, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I need to get working, the pink roses are in the White Wood greenhouses, are you coming over there with me?” he kissed me softly at the end of his question.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">As if I wasn’t, I was interested to see the place and also I wanted to be with Tristan.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I kissed him back, it gave me an intense feeling; it was like dissolving, and drifting into the atmosphere, whatever was going on with us, it was addictive.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I am certainly” I managed to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He let me go, “Chloe I’m just about to die from”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I finished the sentence “Wanting to kiss you all the time”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“What?” he put me at arm’s length “is that how you feel? I was about to say from thirst, so let’s have coffee or tea or something before we go”. He was smiling but maybe it was true. I felt really silly about what I had said, and was about to try and dig myself out of the hole I thought I had put myself in, when he smiled shaking his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He held my face, “I’m joking, it’s what you said, I just about can’t think of anything but you. I love you so much and the last couple of months when you seemed more distant, plus there was Emma, Gui, and Corbett to deal with, I was so very sad. Last week I actually felt you love me more again, and I don’t care what else happens, nor if you love Oliver as well, I just want you. Want you to love me too”. He had taken a breath mid sentence and it had added to the sadness of what he was saying. I just nodded before he kissed me again; I put my arms around him as he hugged me to him. “Tristan I love you, I do”. I told him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He took my hand and we went out of the greenhouse and down to the truck, he drove us around to the other greenhouses. It was a short drive, but it was along a dirt single-track road that skirted the woods, and passed a fenced-in house on the right side, before diverting once more through the trees, and into a clearing where four greenhouses stood almost side-by-side. There was a big gravel parking space in the front of them and another truck stood there. It was white, single cab with a tray top, and a little newer than this red one we were using.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Is someone here already?” I asked Tristan as he parked next to the truck.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Possibly not, it’s sometimes just parked here as someone will come along in their own car, and then they use the truck for the day, and after it gets left here. No problems it’s safe enough. We all just drive anything that’s available; we have multiple keys”, he laughed as if he had suddenly found that concept funny, and I smiled at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There was no one around and Tristan took unmade-up boxes and made them into the long flat ones I had seen him use, I watched him do a couple and then asked if I could help. I found it harder than I expected at first, but soon got the knack, and made the boxes whilst Tristan cut flowers and then put them in the boxes. We soon had twenty boxes of various roses and greenery. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan laughed, “That’s it, and I want to get these to the florist right away, let’s go”. He loaded them into the truck and we left. I noticed nothing had been locked up, I supposed it was the same as with the other greenhouses, but the plants must be valuable.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Tristan how come you never lock any of the greenhouses”? I asked<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Well you know since they are all glass, if anyone wanted to get in they could, and no-one comes out here anyway”, he shrugged, it didn’t seem to matter.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I looked at the house that used to belong to the Dearings as we passed, it was a big house, really big, and had a formal garden laid out in the front of it, as well as a wide drive up the side. That was all I could take in as we passed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan was delivering to the florist by the bridal shop, and he double-parked outside it, he glanced at me, “I don’t care if I am double-parked, I just have to deliver these flowers, it will take hardly any time”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I asked if I could help, but he said no if you would just stay in the truck, and then if anyone asks questions, you can say we are delivering here for two minutes tops. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It was only two minutes as another guy came out to help with the boxes, and we were on our way again, this time back to my place.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The archaeology team were still there, the four-wheel drive and little truck still on the driveway. Steven’s little red car was in the drive next to mom’s Cherokee; she always used a taxi to Heathrow when she went to the States.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan parked on the lane, he stopped the truck and turned to me, “Chloe, I have a staff meeting at the stables at five, we have one once a month, and so I will leave you now, but could I see you later, is anything happening?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I wanted to see him, “Tristan that will be really good, I would like that”. I smiled at him, as he looked so happy, and he leaned over to me, I reached up to hold his face and kiss him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I got out of the truck to go into the house, but Tristan met me as I walked around the front and hugged me tight. I was laughing and so was he. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He walked down the drive with me, holding my hand and at the door hugged me again. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I’ll see you later”, I told him and he nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Inside the house I went down to the big drawing room,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Hello Lily”, I greeted her as she turned to check who was coming into the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Oh hello Chloe, come and look at the opening we have in the door, tomorrow we are going into the chamber. There have to be a couple of safety checks first, but we have established that the chamber is under the garden path”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I was looking at the computer screen, “Wow, you have different views now, more cameras I guess, oh is that under croft, that must hold up the roof then under the garden. Wow, is that the water feature it’s bigger than I thought. How do you have the cameras so close if you have not been in the chamber yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I was fascinated; this was going to be great fun actually going in there.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Well they are all on flexible cables, like the head of a snake, we have fed them in, and turned them to the places we want to see along with rope lighting; but I have to admit, Stefan has actually been just inside the chamber to make sure of a couple of things”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“This is so exciting, I can’t wait to see what else you find”, I told her and she laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I know, it’s great work, I’m so lucky to do work I love”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I nodded at her, “I agree, I’m really happy with what I do at the moment, but I came down here to check if you would like coffee or some tea, I’m going to make some and go back to my college assignment”. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I made them all tea and took my own cup up to my room, to start work again on the assignment I had left hours ago. As I passed the library, I heard soft music, I put my head around the door; it was Steven and John playing acoustic guitars. I said hi as they looked up, and asked Steven if he was having dinner at home. He told me he and John were meeting the other band members at Will’s place and getting burgers on the way so no.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I grinned at this and left them to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It was maybe only half an hour later when Steven came to my door, and said the archaeologists were leaving and so were he and John. So I went down and saw them all off; I would see them tomorrow before I went to work at the art and craft holiday project. The archaeology team had left things set up and said that James and Leslie may be here in the morning quite early. I just smiled and nodded, but I hoped that didn’t mean <st1:time hour="6" minute="0" w:st="on">six am</st1:time> or something.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I had finished my assignment, finally, and went down to the kitchen for a drink of water; on the way down the stairs my cell rang and I took it from my pocket noticing it was Oliver calling as I answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He had been working all day and was working this evening too, so we were meeting Thursday night at the Kool Kafé where Will’s band was playing the Thursday, and Friday night gigs.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Hello Chloe, what’s happening, are you having a good day, I miss you”; it was nice to hear his voice and I could picture his face. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Oliver, how lovely to hear from you, it’s been quite a day, the archaeology team found there is a chamber under the house; I spent some time with Tristan and did a college assignment. How did your work go today?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oliver had been doing computer work, re-networking a small business in town and setting up their intranet. I could hear he was smiling as he told me everything had gone really well, and he was working at the restaurant from seven until <st1:time hour="0" minute="0" w:st="on">midnight</st1:time>. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He said he was interested to see the new archaeology findings and asked laughingly if there were any wall paintings in the chamber. We talked for a couple of minutes and then rang off, as he needed to get ready for work. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I was thinking of him as I went back upstairs, even after being so close to Tristan for most of the day, I missed Oliver and would be very happy to see him Thursday night. I was back to my old ways of really loving both he and Tristan, it was not something I was proud of, I felt worse about it now than I had ever felt. I went and looked out of my window, it was growing dark, and there was a chill in the air. I stared out, not seeing the view, I just felt so wretched about having such intense feelings for both Oliver and Tristan again. How was this going to work out? I had practically told Oliver only a couple of weeks ago, that I loved him more than Tristan, but it wasn’t true, if it had ever been. I felt bad for them both, what was the matter with me, how can someone be deep in love two guys. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I called Clare, she answered straight away, and I launched into my request. “Clare I was thinking maybe we could meet for lunch, maybe Friday, I haven’t seen much of you for a couple of weeks”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Clare greeted me, “Hello Chloe, I’d love to meet you Friday, only I am expected at a theatre meeting, will you be at the Kool Kafé tomorrow. I thought everyone was coming out to see Will’s band, maybe we could meet a little early then and catch up. James will not be coming down until about nine, so what if we met for supper about six there?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I told her that would be great and asked how her work with the theatre was going. We talked for a couple more minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I was thinking of finding something to eat for dinner and had wandered down to the fridge, when my cell rang again, “Chloe, hello” it was Tristan, “I was thinking maybe we could go up to the restaurant to eat, would that be ok?” I smiled as I answered him, “Tristan that’s a lovely thought what time were you thinking of?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He nominated <st1:time hour="7" minute="30" w:st="on">seven thirty</st1:time> and I told him that was good; I wouldn’t mind cleaning myself up a bit.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I quickly went in the shower and as I dried my hair, I was thinking it seemed to be getting longer, maybe I could get mom to trim the ends when she got home from the States, they looked a bit dry. I put on my new sweater and jeans; I put the new blue belt on and then took it back off. I decided to leave my hair down for a change, and thought about wearing shoes with a bit of a heel but then decided against it and put my boots on. I took my iPad downstairs and set some music going as I made a cup of tea. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Staring out at the garden, lit up as usual in white and yellow lights I could not stop thinking about the situation I was in, I needed to talk to someone and it was going to have to be Clare, but at least I would only have to wait until the next day. I heard Tristan pull onto the gravel driveway in a vehicle and went to let him in the front door; he looked lovely. He had cut his hair, it was much shorter than he usually had it, spiked and very slightly longer at the front, it really suited him, and he looked great. His dark blue shirt bringing out the colour of his eyes and making his hair look darker, he stopped in the doorway, “Chloe you look lovely”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I took his hand, “I was just thinking the same thing about you, you changed your hair, it’s gorgeous,” I told him as we went into the kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He turned me around and kissed me; I put my arms up around his neck and kissed him back. It didn’t matter right then about all the things I had been thinking, before he arrived, it didn’t matter that I loved both he and Oliver; I couldn’t help but kiss and hug him close. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan smiled as he moved back from me, “Oliver is working at the restaurant tonight isn’t he?” I nodded in answer and he continued, “Well if I am not as affectionate as I have been today, that will be the reason why, which you would probably have guessed, but I thought I would make it clear”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I smiled at him, “I would have guessed”. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It was a little cold; autumn was already well established, it had developed faster, and become colder than expected after our lovely summer, we decided I would drive us up to 'Peacocks’ in my Wrangler.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Even so when we went into the restaurant, we naturally went out to the terrace tables; I knew dad was thinking of putting some form of heating out there on the terrace, because everyone loved sitting at those tables, with the view of the lake close by.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Do you really want to be out here Chloe, it’s a bit cool?” Tristan asked and we moved to just inside the restaurant, at the end tables, as Oliver came along to see us. He looked great and was grinning at us, “Hello, this is nice to see you; I hope you both came to see me, more than for dinner. Excellent haircut Tristan,” he observed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan laughed, “Sorry Oliver it’s probably about half and half, half to see you, and half for dinner, and yes I thought it was time I changed my appearance, a little at least. You know put people off the notion I don’t age”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oliver turned to me, looking lovingly at me, “Did you finish the assignment you had? Hey how about that new find under the house?” he included Tristan then, looking from one to the other of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I know, it’s incredible, I can’t wait to see it properly, I never asked Chloe; did Don or anyone say anything else when they left tonight?” Tristan was talking happily.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I watched Tristan, and Oliver standing near our table, there was no sign of anything other than friendship; I felt that I had better preserve that by being very careful how I treated them both.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I smiled at them, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Lily, the lovely girl archaeologist, told me they have established the chamber is under the garden path, and there are safety checks tomorrow, before they go in it. I saw vaulted ceilings on the computer this evening, before they packed up; it’s all well made down there by the looks of it. The water feature seemed bigger to me too, I think it could be a total blast going in there”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Wow it sounds excellent fun, I’d love to see it all, maybe I could drop by and see it soon,” Oliver said and Tristan added, “Me too, what are we doing Friday?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I grinned and shook my head, “Me, nothing important so far, Oliver?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He smiled, “Well not free until afternoon”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan sighed, “Not free until about six”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I smiled, “We could meet at the house around six, how about that, Don and team will be gone and we can snoop big time”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Both Oliver and Tristan smiled and nodded, “Ok let’s do that” Tristan said. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Are you ordering now, because I may have to go to another table if not?” Oliver asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">We did order and Oliver went off to pass it in.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I smiled at Tristan; he was sitting opposite me and out of reach, which was a good thing. He smiled back, “You will be at the Kool Kafé tomorrow night Chloe; I guess so will Oliver”. It was as if he was making sure of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I nodded at him, “Yes, we are meeting down there; I thought you were coming too, I will be down there with Clare early, we are meeting to catch up”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I will come down, because about the last time I was there, something spoilt the night for me”, he smiled but then became serious, and put his hand across the table, which was an invitation to me to hold it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I did hold his hand for just a few seconds, he was referring to Emma stabbing me, and I smiled at him a little. He sat back in his chair and sighed, giving me a look that made me feel like risking kissing him, but I didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oliver brought our order and grinned as he put it down, “Your dad said I could take my break with you in half an hour, will it be an intrusion?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan spoke first, “Certainly not, it’ll be good don’t you agree Chloe?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I grinned at his friendliness and courtesy, “That will be nice Oliver”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">When Oliver had gone I looked questioningly at Tristan, I didn’t need to voice anything, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Seriously Chloe, its ok with me that Oliver join us, we are all friends besides everything else, let’s not forget that” Tristan said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I nodded, “Yes I know, I agree, and I can’t tell you how wretched I sometimes feel about my behaviour, I mean caring for both of you” I tailed off.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan just gave me a caring look; I didn’t say more, what was there to say. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">When Oliver came over for his break, he surprised us by telling us that he was thinking of having a party for his birthday.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Oliver when is your birthday?” I asked him smiling; I was delighted to hear this.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Yes Oliver when is it, and how old should you be”? Tristan grinned at us both, as Oliver had pulled a chair a bit closer to me than Tristan. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oliver laughed, “It’s in about three week’s time, well nearly four, twenty fifth of next month, and I should be twenty”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I sighed, “Really Oliver, that soon, I suppose the years still add up we just will not show them huh?” I looked at Tristan as I said this and he nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“That’s about it Chloe; when is your birthday?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oliver looked at me with his eyebrows raised a little in question too, and Tristan smiled again at us both.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“December fifth, and you know what Tristan, I have been meaning to ask when your birthday is for months now, ever since Will and Steven’s party in fact but somehow didn’t get around to it”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oliver looked questioningly at Tristan he was interested too.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Funnily enough, it’s fifteenth of December, if I remember rightly, though I can’t say I have celebrated it for well, a few hundred years actually”. He didn’t seem worried by this, but Oliver looked at me, and I thought I saw a look of sympathy go across his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I’m not really into star-sign stuff, but I had a friend in California who was, and almost planned her day around horoscopes she looked up on the internet each night, so I knew my star sign, and I knew we were all the same one.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Guys, we are all Sagittarians, do you realize, how weird is that?” I informed them.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Well it is I suppose” Oliver shrugged his shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tristan just shrugged too, “I know nothing about it”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I smiled, “Where will you have your party Oliver?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I don’t know, not a big huge thing but a get together you know”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Perhaps we should all three have a huge joint party on the lawns on your birthday Oliver,” I suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“We could, if it was not likely to be cold or throwing with rain” Oliver grinned.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Also it doesn’t seem fair to crash Oliver’s day really”, Tristan said, and added, “Plus I’d prefer not to draw attention to myself, I mean really people may ask how old I am, and it could get awkward”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I hadn’t thought of this and it appeared that neither had Oliver, as he looked thoughtful.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Maybe we could just have a get together in the Kool Kafé, I’d be pleased to do a joint celebration with you Chloe, since your birthday is only eleven days later. Maybe it will be the last time we broadcast our ages, since we are never going to look any older than we do now”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan sighed, “Sorry, I feel somehow as if I have put a dampener on your plans Oliver”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oliver shook his head, “No, not so, don’t think like that, we will secretly celebrate your birthday this year too, so don’t think you are getting away with it”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Oliver was so nice. I looked at them both for a moment, both so attractive, such lovely guys; if anyone said to me Chloe, you have to choose between them now, or disappear in a puff of smoke and that’s that, I couldn’t choose, I would have no ability to do it and so would go up in a puff of smoke. It almost made me smile thinking this, but the fundamental seriousness of loving them both stopped the smile from reaching my lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“My break is up really”, Oliver was saying as I tuned back in.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Oliver we can all talk about your party on Friday evening”, I suggested as he stood up.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Ok, good idea”, he replied and for a few seconds it looked as if he was going to bend and kiss me, but then he caught himself and smiling at both Tristan and I, went back to work.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan had a slightly sad expression on his face, “He nearly kissed you goodbye then, you realize”, he commented and took a drink of his coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I took a deep breath and nodded slightly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“You know once in the last couple of months, when we were a little surprised by events, and you and Oliver were leaving in the Landrover, I think; you both kissed me. Oliver on my cheek on the left as he got into the driver’s side and when I went around to the passenger side with you, then you on my right cheek. I don’t think either of you noticed, and I didn’t even think about it until a while later, but it was there”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan laughed out loud, “Really”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I was surprised at his reaction and sat there silently for a moment gathering my thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“You really are not jealous of Oliver at all are you Tristan?” I finally asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“No, you don’t want me to be, do you, that was a strange tone you used there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“What no, never” I answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I start being sad, not jealous, but only when you seem to stop caring for me”, Tristan elaborated and he looked intently at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I answered him, “I lost sight of how much you meant to me for the barest time, and a little bit of that was thinking you might want to be with Emma, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking of”. It was true, I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">He smiled and reached across the table for my hand, he didn’t even look around to check who saw. He held my hand for a minute, and looked straight into my eyes, something that totally unnerved me, and I closed my eyes to break the spell between us.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Maybe we should go Chloe, what do you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Tristan waited until we had gone half way across the car park before he put his arm around my shoulders. He kissed my cheek as I got into my Wrangler and laughed a little at the gesture, no doubt remembering what I had just told him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">When we got home Tristan hesitated for a moment, “Chloe I was thinking, it’s not that late, you don’t work until the afternoon tomorrow, maybe we could spend a little more time together before I leave”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I turned to him across the transmission, “I’d like that Tristan”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Inside we naturally went into the big kitchen, I checked the dishwasher, as I had put the dishes from the day in there before I left earlier. Tristan surprisingly didn’t make coffee, but looked out at the garden lights and the darkness that was the woods.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“I can’t imagine life before you came to live here, I don’t know what I used to do with myself”, he said as I went to stand near him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I took his hand, “I love you too Tristan”, I told him softly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">From the new release,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The Sealed Door book four of The Seven Spell Saga copyright June 2011 Tessa Stokes<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-34460631520157365872011-06-23T18:45:00.001-04:002011-06-23T18:52:44.464-04:00Featured Author for June 23<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Welcome to the Cozy Corner Reading Room!</span></span></span></b></span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial; font-size: large; font-weight: 800;">For more great books, visit The Book Shelf tab above^^^</span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial; font-weight: 800;"><br />
</span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">This week's Featured Author:</span></span></span></b></span></strong></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">Traci Hohenstein, author of</span></span></span></b></span></strong></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">Burn Out </span></span></span></b></span></strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AvrWNeGN-7M/TgOy-A8Pu5I/AAAAAAAAAHE/pOo8lSJZRh4/s1600/traci.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AvrWNeGN-7M/TgOy-A8Pu5I/AAAAAAAAAHE/pOo8lSJZRh4/s320/traci.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></span></b></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">Read an interview with Traci on the Chair to Chair Page >>>>>> </span></span></span></b></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></span></b></span></strong></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Burn-Out-ebook/dp/B004UW2UTI/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_1">Buy Burn Out on Amazon</a> or <a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Burn-Out/Traci-Hohenstein/e/2940012294371/?itm=1&USRI=burn+out">Barnes & Noble</a> .99 cents</span></span></span></b></span></strong></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Suspense/Thriller</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Synopsis:<br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: black; line-height: 14px;">Lt. Samantha (Sam) Collins, a firefighter, vanishes after a warehouse fire the week before she was to testify at her estranged husband’s trial for drug charges. The only clue to her disappearance is a firefighter helmet that was left behind at the scene.<br />
<br />
<span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308865033_1" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">Rachel Scott</span> founded Florida Omni Search after her own daughter disappeared when she was four. She has worked with <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308865033_2" style="color: #366388;">law enforcement agencies</span> all over the United States in locating missing people. Sam’s mother calls Rachel for assistance in locating her daughter. However, the search for Sam takes her on a journey that she never expected.<br />
<br />
As she digs deeper into Sam’s past, she finds out more about the marijuana operation her husband Ken, a former police officer, was involved with.<br />
In her desperate, terrifying search for Sam, Rachel also discovers clues about her own missing daughter, Mallory.<br />
<br />
Will she locate Samantha in time and also find out what happened to her own daughter?</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Chapter One</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Samantha Collin’s story</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Santa Rosa Beach, FL Thursday 6:36 PM</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Just breathe. Stay focused. I said the mantra over and over to calm </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">myself. This wasn’t my first fire, but my heart still beat a thousand beats </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">a minute as I made my way through flames so vivid I thought I was in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">hell.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I crawled along the hallway gripping the fire hose tightly. The</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">smoke was so thick I couldn’t see past my gloves. I led my crew towards </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">the rear of the building where the victim was last seen. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">The angry, orange flames danced up the walls and I could feel the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">intensity of the heat, even through my protective gear. We should be </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">getting really close. I thought back to what little information dispatch </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">had given us about the fire.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">When the call came into the station fifteen minutes earlier, I</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">thought it would be a small fire. Quick, get in, get out. But this was a </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">doozy. Campbell’s Farmers Market was totally engulfed in flames when </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">we arrived. According to dispatch, the owner’s son was last seen in his </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">office at the warehouse.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I pictured the layout of the market in my head. I’d been to</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Campbell’s many times to buy fresh fruits and vegetables for my family. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would be crawling on my </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">hands and knees in the dark trying to find my way around.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Moving through the dense smoke, I lead the crew to the office</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">which was supposed to be straight ahead. My knees ached badly and I </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">desperately wanted to stop and take a break. But I knew every second </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">counted when a person was missing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">At last I found what I thought was the door to the office. I stopped </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">and felt the door before pushing it open. The smoke was not as heavy in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">here as it was on the main floor. I slowly made my way around the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">office and motioned to Kevin and Mack, the guys on my crew, to look </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">around the desk. I felt around the floor and found something hard near </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">the back of the door. I called out to Mack and showed him the body.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Command. Occupant located. We’re heading out. Conditions are </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">worsening,” I spoke into the radio.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Mack and Kevin carried him out while I followed close behind</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">holding the line. I heard a loud noise and turned around to look. It was </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">hard to see with all of the heavy smoke, but in the distance I saw a sliver </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">of light. What the hell was that?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">When we got within a few feet of the front door, I noticed</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">something was out of place. At first, I thought my eyes were deceiving </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">me. Was that someone standing in the distance?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I needed to get closer to get a better look. It was now or never. I </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">checked to see if the crew and victim were safely outside. When I turned </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">back around, I saw a figure heading towards the rear of the building. I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">knew it was against protocol, but I made a split second decision to </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">follow. I made my way back through heavy smoke. The air tank </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">suddenly beeped, sending out a signal I was running low.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I could barely make out who it was, but as I got closer I realized </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">the person had firefighter gear on. I quickened my pace, bumping into </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">furniture and equipment trying to catch up. I tripped over something and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">landed hard on my side. Within a couple of minutes I heard the frantic </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">call through my radio.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Mayday!” Command called in a desperate tone. “One firefighter </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">unaccounted for. Mayday!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">My last thought was of Bella and Gracie, my sweet little girls,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">before the roof collapsed into a fiery crash all around me.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Chapter Two</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Miami, FL Monday 8:30 AM</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">The office for Florida Omni Search was located a block off the beach in </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Miami. Rachel Scott, the founder of the company, had converted an old </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">souvenir shop into their office.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">She walked through the door juggling her briefcase with one hand, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">and three coffees and a bag of bagels in the other. “Good morning, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">everyone,” Rachel said with a smile. She dropped everything onto the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">reception desk.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Coffee. You’re my savior,” said Janine.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Good morning, Ms. Scott,” Red Cooper said as he reached into </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">the white bakery bag and pulled out a bagel.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“I forgot to pick up a new coffee maker this weekend. I was too </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">busy doing nothing,” Rachel said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“I don’t blame you. After the hellish month we’ve had, you</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">deserved a break,” Janine said.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Janine Jensen was the co-founder of Florida Omni Search and</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Rachel’s closest friend. She was a few years older than Rachel and wore </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">her wavy hair shoulder-length. She had a hippie look and favored long </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">skirts with flip-flops year ‘round.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Rachel had been travelling the last month on two back-to-back </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">difficult searches for missing people. It kept her mind busy and her </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">karma bank account full.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Anything come in over the weekend?” Rachel inquired. She took </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">a sip of her caramel flavored latte, savoring the sweet taste and the hit of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">caffeine.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Florida Omni Search was a search and rescue company which</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">specialized in finding missing people. It was a non-profit organization </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">that was manned twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The tollfree </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">hotline was run by volunteers. They took calls from law </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">enforcement agencies and family members requesting assistance in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">finding missing persons.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“We only had a couple of calls. One was for a runaway teen from </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Orlando, but she was found safe and sound with her boyfriend. They </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">were found at a hotel about an hour away from home. The other call you </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">may want to look at. A firefighter was reported missing from Santa Rosa </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Beach,” Red said while looking at the call log.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Red Cooper was her top investigator at Florida Omni Search. His </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">real name was Winston, but he earned the nickname Red during his </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">childhood because of his thick, curly red hair. These days Red was short, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">beefy and bald. He was also an ex-cop from Miami PD, divorced three </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">times, no kids, and an avid collector of Harley Davidson motorcycles.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">He ran Cooper Investigations out of the Florida Omni Search offices and </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">in exchange for free rent, worked on all of Rachel’s cases when she </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">needed assistance. He was a jack of all trades – background checks, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">surveillance, and sometimes, body guard. Rachel had known Red for a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">long time and trusted him with her life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Santa Rosa Beach is up in the North Florida Panhandle right?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Near Panama City Beach?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Yes. It’s about a twelve hour drive from here.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Who called it in?” Rachel asked while flipping through the call </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">log. Most calls were routine. Runaway teenagers usually topped the list, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">followed by adults who were thought to be missing, but turned up a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">couple days later. Some calls were from law enforcement agencies. It </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">wasn’t uncommon for the FBI or other agencies to request assistance.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">She worked with some pretty high profile cases and had sophisticated </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">equipment most agencies didn’t have the budget for.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“This came in from the missing firefighter’s mother. According to </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">her, the daughter was on duty when a call came in for a warehouse fire.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">She went into the building with her crew to search for a victim and </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">during the rescue, she disappeared. The roof collapsed and she was </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">presumed dead,” Red told her. “But here is the kicker. Her body was </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">never found.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“When did this happen?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“The fire was Thursday evening. The firefighter’s mom, Nora,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">called us on Sunday. There is a little more to the story and I think you </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">should hear it from her,” Red said as he handed her the number.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Here’s to a busy morning!” Janine said, raising her coffee cup.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Enjoy. I’ll be in my office,” Rachel said.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Rachel’s office was covered with artwork and letters from children </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">of family members she helped find. She found artwork motivated her </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">more than any other motivational poster – like the ones she had in her </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">former real estate office.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">She had come a long way from the days when she was a Miami </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">socialite and real estate mogul. Back then, her days were filled with </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">multi-million dollar business deals, nightly parties and shopping. She </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">was always dressed to the nines in outfits such as Dolce and Gabbana, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Tori Burch, and Gucci. She had weekly manicures and facials, and visits </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">to the hair salon. It had cost thousands of dollars a month to maintain her </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">lifestyle.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">It took the disappearance of her three-year-old daughter Mallory to </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">change all that. The day she vanished was the day Rachel’s life changed </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">forever.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Chapter Three</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Rachel replayed the morning Mallory disappeared. Just like she did </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">every day. That day was hectic. The nanny who normally cared for </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Mallory called in sick. Rachel was trying to close a big real estate deal </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">which involved a commercial piece of property. If it closed successfully </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">she would net a ninety thousand dollar commission. Her husband Rick </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">owned several luxury car dealerships throughout Florida and was on his </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">way out of town.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">After breakfast, she quickly got Mallory dressed. Mallory insisted </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">on wearing her princess costume complete with tiara and little highheeled </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">shoes. Everyone always told Rachel that Mallory looked like a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">miniature Little Mermaid with her long curly red hair and bigger-than life </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">emerald green eyes. It was a beautiful day so she took Mallory </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">outside to play. While Mallory was playing with her dolls on the front </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">lawn, Rachel sat on the porch crunching numbers, trying to find a way to</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">save the deal.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Mallory kept asking over and over, “Mommy, will you please</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">come play with me.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Baby, Mommy is busy working. In a little while, okay?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Please, Mommy. I’ll let you be the princess if you want.” Mallory </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">pleaded.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“In a few minutes, honey. Let me finish this. Okay?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Mallory poked her lower lip out. “Please?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">She heard her phone ringing inside. “Mallory, I’ll be right back.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">She ran inside to answer it. It was probably Rick calling to say he made </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">it to the airport. She was only gone a couple of minutes. When she came </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">back outside, Mallory was gone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Frantically she looked everywhere for Mallory. Front yard, inside </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">the house, back yard, garage, and up and down the street. Everywhere.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">No Mallory. Her world came crashing down all around her.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">That’s all it took. Two minutes and her daughter vanished. No</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">leads, no witnesses, nothing. It was like she fell off the face of the earth.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Weeks later, when the story got hot and received national attention, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">all the wacky leads came in. The police followed up on as many as they </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">deemed reasonable. It wasn’t enough for Rachel. Mallory was never </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">found.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">She felt the guilt of not spending enough time with Mallory. She </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">cursed herself for not paying attention the morning she was taken.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Rachel’s obsession with finding Mallory took a toll on her marriage.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Rick eventually moved out and their divorce soon followed.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Rachel took all her anger and grief and turned into a positive thing.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">She would never stop looking for Mallory, but she realized she had the </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">money and resources to help find other missing people.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">After a year of putting together her team – forensic experts,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">experienced search and rescue volunteers, and top investigators – she </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">started Florida Omni Search. Now, three years later, she had located </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">over a hundred missing children and adults. She rarely turned down a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">case and would help just about anyone who needed her. With over 2300 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Americans, including children, reported missing every day, how could </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">she not?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Rachel sat down at her desk and picked up a picture of her and </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Mallory she kept in a silver frame. The picture was taken at Disney </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">World the year Mallory disappeared. They were standing in front of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Cinderella’s castle and Rachel was holding Mallory in her arms. Mallory </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">was wearing her pink tutu and was eating an ice cream cone. She had </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">chocolate sauce dripping down her little arm and a huge smile on her </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">face. Rachel had tears in her eyes as she put down the photo. She hardly </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">recognized the woman in the picture. The woman she used to be. The </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">beautiful, well put-together woman with long auburn hair that hung </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">straight and shiny down her back and makeup that was always perfect.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Staring at the picture, she longed to hold Mallory again in her arms. “I </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">will always, always look for you. I will never give up.” She repeated </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">those words every day as she looked at her daughter’s smiling face. She </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">missed her little girl so much it physically hurt.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath as she refocused </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">her energy on helping the missing firefighter. She dialed the number on </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">the paper Red gave her, and after several rings, a child answered the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">phone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Hello. This is Rachel. May I speak to Nora?” The phone clunked </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">down with a clatter. After a few seconds, Nora picked up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Hello?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Nora, this is Rachel Scott from Florida Omni Search. I’m</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">returning your call about Samantha.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“Oh, Ms. Scott.” Nora cried on the phone. “Thank you so much for </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">calling me back. I’ve seen you on that TV show about missing people. I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">hope you can help me find my daughter, Samantha. I just know </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">something bad happened to her.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">“I will help you in any way I can, Nora. Why don’t you tell me</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">what happened?” Rachel leaned back into her chair and listened to </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">Nora’s bizarre story.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting', cursive;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308865033_6" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">Romantic Comedy</span> author of <strong>Special Delivery</strong></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting', cursive;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;">release date May 1, 2011</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Handwriting', cursive;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.msthriller.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308865033_7" style="color: #366388;">www.msthriller.wordpress.com</span></a><br />
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</div></div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-4987349860717002782011-06-15T19:11:00.003-04:002011-06-23T19:28:35.798-04:00Featured Author for June 15<div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Welcome to the Cozy Corner Reading Room!</span></span></span></b></span></strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial; font-size: large; font-weight: 800;">For more great books, visit The Book Shelf tab above^^^</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial; font-weight: 800;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">This week's Featured Author:</span></span></span></b></span></strong></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">Julianne MacLean, Author of</span></span></span></b></span></strong></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b>THE COLOR OF HEAVEN</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SWjlcCez6ig/Tfk7xY0UKCI/AAAAAAAAAHA/ms1kjJ4qauc/s1600/heaven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SWjlcCez6ig/Tfk7xY0UKCI/AAAAAAAAAHA/ms1kjJ4qauc/s320/heaven.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><b>Read an interview with Julianne on the Chair to Chair Author Interview Page >>>>></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.juliannemaclean.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308178718_0" style="color: #366388;">www.juliannemaclean.com</span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.evmitchell.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308178718_1" style="color: #366388;">www.evmitchell.com</span></a></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;">Blurb for THE COLOR OF HEAVEN:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px;"></span><br />
<div></div><div>Sophie Duncan is a successful columnist whose world falls apart after her daughter’s unexpected illness and her husband’s shocking affair. When it seems nothing else could possibly go wrong, her car skids off an icy road and plunges into a frozen lake. There, in the cold dark depths of the water, Sophie experiences something profound and extraordinary, which unlocks the secrets from her past, and teaches her what it means to truly live.</div><div></div><div>"Brilliantly poignant mainstream tale."</div><div>4-1/2 starred review from Romantic Times Book Reviews</div><div></div><div>E.V. Mitchell is the pseudonym for an award-winning <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308178689_0">USA Today</span> <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308178689_1">bestselling author</span> of 15 <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308178689_2">historical romance novels</span>. This is E.V. Mitchell’s first independently-published mainstream contemporary fiction novel. For more information about the book and the author, visit <a href="http://www.evmitchell.com/" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308178689_3">www.evmitchell.com</span></a>.</div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri;">Excerpt from The Color of Heaven</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">By E.V. Mitchell</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> Not long after I crossed the border into <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308178718_2" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">New Hampshire</span>, the temperature plummeted. If I had been out walking, I would have felt it on my cheeks. The chill would have entered my throat and lungs, but I was strapped tightly into the cozy confines of my vehicle with the heat blasting out of the dashboard vents, and was therefore shielded from the conditions outside. I will always wonder what brought that deer out onto the road just as the puddles from the melting snow turned to ice. I saw her out of the corner of my eye, galloping onto the pavement, and my whole body went rigid.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> Wrenching the steering wheel left to avoid her, I hit the brakes at the same time, which was, of course, the worst thing I could have done.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> The car whipped around 180 degrees, so I was now facing the oncoming headlights from the vehicles traveling behind me. My tires skimmed sideways across the pavement toward the shoulder of the road.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> I remember everything in excruciating detail, the noise especially, as my car rolled five times down the steep embankment. Glass shattered and smashed. Steel collapsed. The world spun in dizzying circles in front of my eyes, so I shut them and gripped the steering wheel hard, bracing my body against the jarring impact as the roof collapsed over the passenger side and the windows blew out.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> Down I went, tumbling and bouncing over the rocks like a stone skipping across water.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> Then all at once, it was over.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> There was only white noise in my ears, and the thunderous sound of my heartbeat.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> I opened my eyes to find myself hanging upside down in my seatbelt, with the side of my head wedged up against the roof.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> The engine was still running. Other sounds emerged. Music blasted from the radio – an old favorite song of mine from the 80’s, <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1308178718_3" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">The Killing Time</span>, which was ironic, but in that heart-stopping moment, I was not that reflective. All I could think of was getting out of there.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> Panic hit me. Hard. I felt trapped, frantic to escape, and began to thrash about.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> I groped for the red button on the seatbelt buckle, but my hands were shaking so badly, I couldn’t push it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> My breaths came faster and faster.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> I cried out, but no one heard.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a whip cracked. The vehicle shuddered.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> I froze and tried to see past the smashed windshield in front of me. Everything outside the car was pure white, covered in snow.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> If only I knew where I was. If only I could see something beyond the broken glass.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> But it didn’t matter what I could, or could not, see. I knew what was happening...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> My car was sitting on its roof, resting on a frozen lake. The crack of the whip was the sound of the ice breaking.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> Creak… Groan…</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> My SUV shifted and began to slowly tip sideways...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-7326382419636330462011-06-02T18:19:00.003-04:002011-06-15T19:18:36.874-04:00Featured Author for June 2<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Welcome to the Cozy Corner Reading Room!</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;">For more great books, visit The Book Shelf tab above^^^</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">This week's Featured Author:</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></span></span></div></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Mike Faricy </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"> Read an interview with Mike on the Chair to Chair page>>></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">Enjoy a sample of some of his books:</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004V4AHYU/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217153&creative=399701&creativeASIN=B004V4AHYU%22%3ERussian%20Roulette%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B004V4AHYU&camp=217153&creative=399701">Russian Roulette</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition or buy it on <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: blue;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #006599;"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/48557?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wz9XBZnOFq8/TegHUobz0sI/AAAAAAAAAG0/zciS2Nd4vKo/s1600/mike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wz9XBZnOFq8/TegHUobz0sI/AAAAAAAAAG0/zciS2Nd4vKo/s320/mike.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I was sitting in the Spot Bar, minding my own damn business, content in a mild and steadily growing alcoholic haze. A client had paid me. The check was enough to cover my overdrafts and fund a night or two of partying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I saw her come in the side door and look around for fifteen seconds. She was blond, hot looking, thirty something, maybe wearing a little too much makeup. Dressed in a delightfully slutty sort of way. Conversation didn’t stop but heads turned as she walked past. She headed toward an empty stool. There were four on either side of me. Her chest was like the prow of a battleship and plowed a firm, bouncy course down the length of the bar. She passed the first three empty stools and pulled out the one next to me. It was red vinyl and edged in worn duct tape.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Is anyone sitting here?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I caught the slightest hint of an accent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Not that I can see.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“You are Mr. Devlin Haskell, right? The private dick?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">She batted her eyes a few times, which at the moment struck me as extremely sexy. Her perfume wafted over me like a plastic dry cleaning bag and forced me to gasp for breath. It was strangely spicy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yeah, that’s me. Although it’s not all that private,” I joked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Incredibly she smiled but didn’t comment. After a moment she said,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Mr. Haskell, I’ve been looking for you. Of course the other places were a little nicer than this,” she said, gazing around at the dingy brown, smoke-stained ceiling. Maybe she caught the two bullet holes in the front door now filled with putty and supposed to have been painted sometime just before Obama took office. Maybe it was the 60s-style cheap wood paneling on the walls, or the ode de beer reek of the place. Maybe it was the worn wood-grain Formica tables in the booths or the twenty-watt bulbs in the light fixtures. Maybe it just didn’t matter, I thought, as she sat up straight, spun toward me on her stool, and thrust her death-defying cleavage in my face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“You were looking for me?” I asked, wondering if my luck had finally begun to change.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yes, a friend gave me your name.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Really, what can I do for you?” thinking maybe a getaway weekend to a quiet lake, or a bed and breakfast with a jacuzzi in the room, or just your basic tawdry night at my place.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Well, I hope you won’t think I’m strange.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">At this point Grace, the bartender, stepped in front of us. An experienced little voice inside my head said <i>just smile, finish the drink and get the hell out of here before you get in real trouble</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Buy you a drink?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Will you have another?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">That experienced little voice whispered <i>no</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I nodded yes toward Grace who rolled her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yeah, okay, I guess I’ll have a double vodka martini, two olives,” she ordered quickly, then smiled at me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">A double, my kind of girl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“So, I was about to think you’re strange?” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“What? Oh yes. Look, I wanted to hire you, to sort of find someone. I will pay you,” and with that she dug in a small beaded handbag suspended on a chain over her shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I hadn’t noticed it before but then I’d been otherwise engaged making careful notes as to her physical characteristics.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Oh, sorry,” she said as she snapped the handbag closed with an audible click and then reached into her front pocket. She pulled out a small wad of hundred-dollar bills. I was actually more amazed there was room for anything thicker than a dime in her pocket. The jeans looked to have been sprayed on over her perfect thighs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Here is five hundred dollars I can get you more if you need it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“You still haven’t told me who you want me to ‘sort of’ find. A name would help, for starters. Not to mention, you know my name but I don’t know yours.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Grace brought our drinks, grabbed a ten off the bar from the small pile in front of me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Oh yes, sorry, I’m Kerri.” She held out her hand to shake.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Nice to meet you, Kerri, call me Dev. Your accent?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Ahhh French.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">She nodded, batted her eyes innocently, then proceeded to drain nearly half her martini glass.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Mmm-mmm, that is a very good vodka,” she gasped. “Yes, French, but from a long time ago. I was just a little girl. Dev, I hope you’ll help me find my little sister.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Your sister?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yes, she is called Nikki.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Hmm, Kerri and Nikki, sisters. Anyone else in the family? Mom, Dad, brothers, more sisters?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“No, we are the only ones. My, I mean, our parents passed away eight years ago, maybe six months apart,” she made a quick sign of the cross, in the Orthodox way, reverse order to the Irish Catholic I grew up with. Then she washed it down with a hearty sip of martini. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Oh, sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Don’t be. My father killed himself, one drink at a time. And my mother was a religious crazy woman. She wore herself out trying to put a stop to anyone thinking of enjoying himself. You know the old question? Which came first, the alcoholic husband or the long-suffering wife?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Can’t say that I do, but I know a couple or two it might fit.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yes, well.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“So, Nikki?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Oh right, I have not seen her in maybe two months. Not that we were really close or anything, but she hasn’t been home for quite a while as far as I can tell and her phone is disconnected. Her car remains in the same place, in her driveway. I have a key to her house. I went through it but nothing seemed unusual, do you know? It was not trashed or ransacked or some-such.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Husband, boyfriend, kids?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Not that I know about. She had a boyfriend about a year and a half ago, but he did away with her. Actually he was keeping her on the side and had a regular girlfriend. He married that woman last spring. Nikki read about it in the newspaper.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“That’s a tough way to find out.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yes. I think he was maybe four years older than Nikki, Bradley Cadwell. Brad the Cad we called him. He is a lawyer now. But I must be honest, she only spoke of him, I never really met him.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“But a lawyer?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Say no more.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">She didn’t, instead she drained her glass and left the olives. With a nod I had Grace mixing a new double just after her empty glass hit the bar. Things become a little bit bleary after that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I remember checking the rearview mirror constantly on the drive home to make sure she didn’t lose me, although I couldn’t swear to the exact route we took. I remember she could drink vodka like a fish, had a gorgeous figure. She was trimmed as opposed to shaved and had a little Victorian-looking angel with wings, sitting on a cloud tattooed on her right butt cheek. I was too drunk to read the writing that encircled the angel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I’ve got a bite mark on my left nipple, scratches on my back, my bed’s a mess, and the place reeks of stale spicy perfume. My head is pounding and I just finished reading a note that says she only took a hundred dollar bill from the five she gave me out of “professional consideration”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">She penned her phone number at the bottom of the note, just after she wrote to hold onto her emerald green thong from Victoria’s Secret should I run across it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I needed aspirin, coffee, and a sauna. Any phone call to Kerri could wait until after those things were accomplished. And ever the professional I made a mental note to find out her last name.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">2<o:p></o:p></span></u></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">While recovering I sat in a back booth at Moe’s a little after one in the afternoon. Moe’s was my morning office at least three days a week. The earlier sauna and aspirin were working their magic, and the third cup of coffee kept me going until breakfast was delivered. I was just finishing up the last of my hash-browns, dragging the remnants through a slick of heart-stopping hollandaise sauce as I phoned Kerri. Her phone message kicked in, but the voice didn’t sound like her at all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Hey baby, thanks for calling. Sorry I’m all tied up at the moment. Leave your name and number, and one of us will get back to you just as soon as we can, bye-bye.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">My guess was Kerri didn’t work for a pediatrician. I checked my watch as the beep sounded to leave a message.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Hi Kerri, Devlin Haskell here. Please give me a call when you can. I’d like to schedule an appointment so we can review some facts on your case and I can begin my investigation. It’s Wednesday afternoon at one-thirty, you can reach me at ….”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I’ll be the first to admit it was a bit presumptuous to suggest I’d be able to review facts on her case. I really only had four facts; Kerri’s first name, her sister’s name, Nikki, Kerri’s phone number, and five, make that four hundred dollars, cash in advance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">A half hour later I was behind the wheel of my car, debating about starting it up or going back into Moe’s for a couple more aspirin when my phone rang. I glanced at the number coming through like I always did and just like always couldn’t read the numbers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Haskell Investigations.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">There was a very long pause on the other end before a female voice sounding somewhat confused said,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“I think I must have the wrong number,” then hung up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">The phone rang again less than a minute later, I did my routine of looking at the incoming number, just like before I was unable to read the damn thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Hello,” I said in what I thought passed for pleasant considering my hangover.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">It was the same voice from a minute before, female, young sounding.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yeah, I’m calling for Devil.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“That would be me, Devlin, actually,” annunciating the last syllable in my name.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“What do you need, baby?” sounding decidedly unimpressed with my attempt at correction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“I need to speak with Kerri, actually. Is she available?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“She can’t do nothing I can’t do better, honey. You don’t need her, do you?” She hissed the word nothing, suggesting maybe there was a space between her teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Actually, yes I do, ahhh, need to talk with her. Is she there or is there a number I can reach her at?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“You a cop?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“No, I’m not. But look, I’ll call the cops and give them this number unless you have Kerri call me in the next half hour. If I don’t hear from…” Whoever she was, she was so impressed she hung up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I decided to venture home, grab some aspirin, maybe close my eyes for a few minutes. My mood improved as I considered I could be sitting on the easiest four hundred dollars I ever made.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I had just put my feet up for the briefest of moments when my phone rang. Yes, I looked at the number. No I still couldn’t read the damn thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Haskell Investigations.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Oh, no wonder Da’nita thought you were with the police. Do you always answer like that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I recognized her voice immediately. A hazy, torrid scene from the previous night replayed in my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Kerri?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Dev?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Dev, I’m returning your call, remember? You wanted to set an appointment. I think we should. No drinks please, at least not until we’re finished with the serious business,” she chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“You tell me where and when.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“How about your office?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“My office?” I swallowed, the throbbing in my head returned with a vengeance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yes, that is okay, no?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">It would be okay if I had an office, so I dodged the question<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“No, I mean, look, I think I owe you at least dinner, ahh, after last night and all. You free this evening?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“I can be.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Okay, tell you what. You know Malone’s?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“It is a place on the corner, with the black awning.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yeah, you got it. I’ll make reservations, say seven, seven-fifteen, no alcohol. At least not until we’re done discussing. Sound okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Great. Oh, Kerri, can you bring some pictures of your sister? And I’ll need her address and, ahh, if you have a spare key to her place that would help too.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Maybe I should just bring her.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Hunh?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Joking, never mind. I will see you at Malone’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">I was pretty sure I wouldn’t need a reservation, but phoned anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Yeah, I’d like a table for two at about seven tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Not a problem, you won’t need a reservation.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“Let me make one anyway, so I look important.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“A reservation here is gonna make you look important? Jesus.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">“See you at seven.”</span><b style="color: black; font-size: x-large;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004D9FESM/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217153&creative=399701&creativeASIN=B004D9FESM%22%3EEnd%20Of%20The%20Line%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B004D9FESM&camp=217153&creative=399701">End of the Line</a> $4.99 Kindle Edition or buy it on <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/19597?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8nNE0hD0nho/TegHXGtegWI/AAAAAAAAAG4/O5wmtcAeASg/s1600/mike2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8nNE0hD0nho/TegHXGtegWI/AAAAAAAAAG4/O5wmtcAeASg/s320/mike2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It was one of those late September evenings, still warm enough that you could choose between a sweater and a light jacket. A slight breeze rustled the trees and knocked leaves to the ground. The days grew darker earlier, the dark clinging longer in the cool mornings, setting the stage for the inevitable frost just a week or two away and the blanket of dead that would follow with the coming of winter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ellen Grady signaled her right hand turn a good two blocks before the Pirate’s Cove parking lot. After a couple of horn blasts she eventually turned, then cautiously drove alongside the timber and white bricked building to the parking lot in the rear. As arranged she parked in the far corner, close to the sidewalk and away from the street light.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">At first glance there was really nothing unusual about her behavior, except that she had parked a good fifty feet beyond any of the other cars in the lot. Maybe it made sense had she been driving a Mercedes, a Jaguar or perhaps a BMW. But a black, Dodge Metro, sporting a bumper sticker that said, ‘Ask me about my Honor Student’ seemed a little unusual. It really wouldn’t matter, she’d be dead in ninety minutes<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">She straightened the laptop on the passenger seat, grabbed the oversized bag that functioned as her purse, left the car unlocked and marched toward the rear entrance illuminated by the sign over the door touting dancing Friday and Saturday night. Once inside she took a deep breath, waited a moment for her glasses to unfog and her eyes to adjust to the dim bar light.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It had been close to ten years since she’d been in any sort of food and drink establishment where she didn’t order off the family menu. It had been closer to fifteen years since she’d been in one alone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">She made her way to an open stool at the bar then glanced at her watch, she was ten minutes early.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Get you something?” The bartender asked as she was sitting down. He’d tended bar nights, for the past twenty-one months and figured Ellen for the first in a group of school teachers who would order pain in the ass drinks, get a little too loud and run off without leaving a tip.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ahh, a Mai Tai?” she replied, wrinkling her nose and shrugging her shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It figured, god damn it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Sure, coming right up,” he smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Snort Hansen was working his way through the outer fringes of cars in the Pirate’s Cove parking lot and coming up empty handed. He was looking for anything of value, CD’s, maybe a cell phone, god forbid he’d come across a purse or a camera. Hell, right about now the way things were playing out he’d consider grabbing a car seat. He kept an eye on the rear door at Pirates Cove, half aware he was probably being watched on some sort of security monitor. But, he was wound so tight after the blow he’d ingested he’d be able to outrun anyone who might come out of the back door after him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It was cool enough that normal people would be wearing a sweater or maybe a jacket. Snort, oblivious to temperature in his drug addled state, wore a torn olive drab t-shirt advertising the band Virgin Snatch. The shirt round his collar had long ago turned gray with grease and grime. Across the right side of his neck, in a blued, blurring homemade tattoo, the name, ‘<i>SNORT</i>’, ran in an almost childish script. He wore a faded, sweat stained twins cap, pulled down over his face. The hat reeked horribly. But Snort himself smelled so bad that the odor from the hat became lost in the pungent shuffle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">He almost skipped the black Dodge Metro in the far corner, one half of his mind saying look at that piece of shit, why bother? Another half presenting a picture of broken window glass, sparkling, diamond like, over a treasure chest. He twitched involuntarily, wiped whatever was flowing from his nose and made a beeline for the far dark corner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It had been happening more frequently lately. The shaking, continual runny nose, multiple pictures battling for the main screen playing inside his head, not to mention constantly being followed by some guys he never quite saw, most likely government creeps, maybe Highway Department detectives. He’d been spiraling downward ever since he’d begun snorting Bath Salts, not that he could tell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, or for that matter, ate. Not that he cared.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">He stumbled alongside the Metro quickly glancing inside, just a fucking radio, no CD player, no smokes, back seat empty. He completed his assessment in a second, never slowing, almost ready to move on when he spotted the laptop on the passenger seat, barely visible in the dark and screaming payday!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Snort ran around to the passenger side, kicked against the window, once, twice, it spider webbed the third time and then the glass collapsed into the front seat following a little quick encouragement from his elbow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Mmm-mmm fucking awesome, man,” Snort giggled, ignoring bits of glass slicing across his hand as he brushed the shattered window off the laptop then tucked it under his arm and quickly faded away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Two businessmen had nodded at Ellen once she had her drink in hand but hadn’t looked at her since. She wondered if they might not be the ones waiting for her to arrive, although they didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. Twenty minutes later she wasn’t sure what to do, it might be too early to go back out to her car and the last thing she wanted to do was look like she was waiting for something to happen. She took a long, loud, final sip from her drink and set the glass on the bar. She signaled the young bartender then carefully pulled the parasol from her empty glass and stuffed it into her purse.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yes mam,” the bartender, smiling, stood with his hands palm down in front of her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Really yummy, may I have another please?” Ellen asked crinkling her nose and giggling with a shrug of her shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Coming right up,” plastering a smile on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">He mixed the drink, shook it an extra fifteen or twenty seconds as he stood in front of her, putting on a show, working for a tip. Then set the glass down, garnished it with two cherries then pulled it away just as she reached for it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What’s your favorite color?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ahhh, red?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Is it red or are you just thinking about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“It’s red,” Ellen laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Okay, nothing too good for my customers,” he said, inserting a red parasol with a flourish and then stabbing two red straws into the side of the pink drink before pushing it in front of her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“He-he, what do I owe you?” she giggled, rummaging around for her wallet in the massive black bag.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Four fifty,” he replied, thinking she looks like the exact change type.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“There, there you go,” Ellen smiled, peeling off four ones and placing two quarters into the bartenders palm. Exact change always made her feel so good.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I knew it, he thought. I fucking knew it, you cheapskate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Thank you,” he said turning to ring up the sale.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The Lewis brothers, Cantrell and DeEric, were a lot of things, smart wasn’t one of them. Petty thieves, thugs, unsuccessful burglars, sometime pimps, chemically addled, sociopaths, uninformed and hopeless were descriptions more to the point. Tonight’s activities, as they pulled into the Pirates Cove parking lot would do nothing to change the description.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Cantrell drove a late model, nondescript blue van. Nondescript except for the unfortunate fact that he had recently painted his phone number, in roman numerals, on both sides. The words <i>‘Party Central!’</i> sort of oozed along in a half script below the phone number, the house paint he had used already beginning to flake and peel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That must be it over there in the back of the lot.” Cantrell pointed with his can of malt liquor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No shit, man this is gonna be so fucking easy. Drop me off here, I’ll wait until you go around on the street. Soon as I see you, I’ll walk back there, grab it and we’re out of here and two hundred bucks richer.” DeEric whispered, though not sure why he was whispering in the front seat of Cantrell’s van.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“She left the door unlocked, right?” Cantrell, double checking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Supposed to, case she didn’t, your man here brought along a hammer, just to make sure.” DeEric lifted the bottom of his hooded sweatshirt, exposing the grip and a steel shaft on the claw hammer tucked into his belt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Thinking of everything, my man, thinking of everything.” Cantrell bumped fists with his brother, watched DeEric climb out of the van, then drove off around the block.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">DeEric waited the proverbial eternity until he saw the van in the street, Cantrell flicked the lights (actually just one worked) then turned it off and waited along the curb in the dark.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">DeEric attempted to look casual as he strolled across the parking lot at an angle. Head down, hood up, baseball cap covering whatever part of his face the hood didn’t, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He walked directly toward the lonely black Metro sitting in the far corner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">His first thought, for just a half second was ‘Man, what a clean window’. Then he realized it was broken, the glass knocked out and thought ‘Huh?’ He glanced inside, saw the empty passenger seat covered in glass said,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ahhh fuck!” and stood there wondering what to do next.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Eventually Cantrell rasped out in the dark from the curb,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Come on, man, what’s takin so long? It locked?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“It’s not here, it’s not fucking here, damn it. Shit, I…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Someone’s coming, man,” Cantrell attempted to call over in a whisper. The clicking of the backdoor had attracted his attention, in the light drifting down from above the rear door he could just make out the silhouette of a women.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Major decisions in life are often times pondered. One hopes that with experience and armed with as many facts as possible we examine, weigh, deliberate and eventually arrive at a calculated conclusion. The conclusion, by its very nature may well set off a series of reactions. Should you accept a job offer, purchase a particular home, take out a bank loan, perhaps marry an individual. The consequences to these decisions, good or bad, may be around for a lifetime or even generations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">On the other hand, sometimes decisions are made on the spur of the moment, with little or no time to deliberate, just a split second calculation. Under fire, does a soldier roll right or left. Do you run the yellow light or stop. Do you wear the life vest or hand it to the person next to you. Do you quickly walk to Cantrell’s van and drive off. Or, as DeEric did, for no apparent reason, do you turn and walk back into the parking lot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ellen was licking the last remnants of Mai Tai from the corner of her lips, giggling and thinking they must have gone straight to her head, all the while rummaging through her bag for car keys. She wasn’t having much luck and was now elbow deep in her massive bag wondering if she might have possibly left them sitting on the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Her mind wandered, you always heard stories of all sorts of strange people picking up keys like that and suddenly two strangers meet. A full moon, a fireplace, another Mai Tai, who knew what could happen? <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">She continued toward her car, focused on her bag, oblivious to DeEric walking past her and stopping. She pictured herself sitting in front of a fireplace, a man, younger and with a French accent, held her car keys while he shook a Mai Tai. She watched contentedly as her tabby cat played in front of the fire with a toy. That cat did the darnedest things whenever….<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">DeEric had walked past her, now watched her staring at the car window. That was all he needed, no laptop and this stupid bitch was gonna blame his ass for a broken window. If nothing else maybe she had their two hundred bucks in her big purse and decided he had better go back and sort it out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The fireplace, Mai Tai, the young man with the French accent and her tabby cat all disappeared when Ellen saw her passenger window, or what was left of it. They’d promised not to break anything. Promised to just take the laptop if she’d left the door unlocked. Oh those people, those awful, awful people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Umm, got yourself a broken window there,” DeEric said coming up almost behind Ellen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You weren’t supposed to do that, you were just supposed to take the laptop…” she snapped, then stopped herself, afraid she might have said too much already.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I didn’t break no damn window, lady. Didn’t see no fucking laptop where it was supposed to be, neither.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You just stay away from me,” Ellen’s eyes wide, frightened as the tall, thin, figure in the hoody and baseball cap took a step toward her. She was elbow deep in her bag, again, frantically rummaging for her pepper spray. Odds and ends, a compact case, Kleenex pack, lip stick, dental floss, all bounced onto the parking lot as she flailed around inside the giant bag.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I said stay away from me do you hear…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Look lady, just here to get that damn computer laptop thing from you is all I’m trying…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ahhh, ahhh, help someone” she screamed just as her hand wrapped around the pepper spray.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Damn, shut the fuck up, bitch,” DeEric screamed as he lunged to grab her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ellen pulled her hand out armed with the pepper spray and fired just as DeEric closed on her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ahhh, ahhh,” he screamed, taking a solid blast to the face. At the same time grabbing her by the lapel, shaking her left and right, ripping her top, tearing a bra strap, swinging blindly in an attempt to stop her, getting another healthy dose of pepper spray in the process. Eventually he let go, throwing her off to his right, screaming, rubbing to get the stinging from his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ellen twisted and bounced to the ground, then scrambled to her feet, loosing a shoe. In the process of being thrown around she’d gotten a healthy dose of the spray herself and now stumbled screaming toward what she hoped was the street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ahhh, ahhh, help, help, help me!” stumbling off the curb and onto the pavement. Eyes blurry, almost blind she lurched toward a light.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It had all taken less then a few seconds and by the time Cantrell was half way out of his van DeEric had tossed the bitch to the ground and was lying on the hood of the Metro, screaming. The bitch was running for the street, Cantrell jumped back in the van, turned his light on then sped ahead to cut her off.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Boom,” he didn’t think he was going too fast but she sailed a good ten feet before touching the ground, bouncing off the tail lights of a parked car with an audible thump then crumbling onto the pavement. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Cantrell noticed a porch light up the street flicking on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">DeEric staggered past the glare of the headlight in a blurry eyed rage, cursing. He attempted to blink and shake his sight back while he pulled the hammer from his belt and stumbled toward the crumpled figure attempting to lift her head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“DeEric don’t you…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Thunk, a pause before another two quick blows, thunk, thunk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The first blow sounded almost sharp, like a foot kicking a soccer ball. The two following, softer, wetter, like slapping fresh poured concrete.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Come on man, we gotta go, leave the bitch, man come on,” Cantrell pulling DeEric off, too late, more porch lights coming on, now a couple of front curtains moving. You couldn’t see it but the air was filling with urgent 911 calls. Cantrell almost pushed DeEric into the van, then ran through the glare of his headlight, jumped behind the wheel and sped off as up and down the street front doors began to open.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">By all accounts Alfie Costello had a hell of a law practice in the city of St. Paul, up until the time he was disbarred for trust fund embezzlement. Since then he had never had any visible means of support yet never seemed short of cash. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Tonight he was wearing a lightly starched open collar shirt, a dark sport coat, bifocals hung from a chain around his neck. The chain decorated with five white beads on either side, each round bead with a black letter that spelled out A-L-F-I-E. A full mop of styled white hair curled across his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Just now, he hoped, he was charming the pants off of a forty something, glassy eyed blond on the stool next to him. She had displayed a healthy appetite for Captain and Coke and seemed to enjoy Alfie’s tales about his boat washing ashore in Cuba back in 2004.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">His tale of danger would pale in comparison to what would happen if his girlfriend, Charlene, found out he was plying a woman with liquor. But she was out for the night with girlfriends, some culture concert Alfie couldn’t care less about, the Schubert Club or the Beethoven Band, absolute nonsense. His interest was more along the lines of the woman next to him beginning to weave slightly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">He was part way through another chapter of his tale, the one about staying up and drinking rum all night with the Harbor Master in Villa Clara when he caught Snort Hansen out of the corner of his eye beginning to drift through the side door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hey, Snort, you know the two rules here. Get the fuck out and stay the fuck out,” the bartender, Jimmy, extending his arm and pointing back out the door Snort had yet to clear. The conversational tone in the grimy drinking establishment, known as Joxer Bailey’s, momentarily dipped to a hum, but came back up immediately once Snort faded from view. The ambience of the place was one of sole endeavor, namely drinking. The patrons all linked by the common bond of failure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Snort had made eye contact with Alfie just before Jimmy reminded him of rules one and two. After a minute Alfie ordered another round, Jameson for himself and of course more Captain and Coke for the lady. He graciously excused himself to the men’s room, waited three or four more minutes rereading the walls above the ice filled urinal before he exited out the same side door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Snort was waiting for him back in the dark of the small gravel parking area, next to an unkempt lilac hedge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What you got for me Snort, and make it quick, I got some hot action eating out of my hand in there,” Alfie said, looking around over his shoulder making sure they weren’t being watched.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Great shit man, got these here CD’s, ahh, this here drill, ahh car seat and ahh, I think a computer, give you everything for a hundred bucks, Alfie.” Snort had crouched down and as he rattled off the items he pulled them out of the lilac hedge one by one and laid them at Alfie’s feet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What in the hell would I want with a baby seat, come on Snort. What the hell are these, CD’s and no cases?” Alfie had picked up the CD’s, about a dozen of them, holding them up, attempting to read them by the distant alley light.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Jesus, I never heard of these groups, and no cases, I’ll take a pass. Probably scratched by now anyway. Look Snort, I don’t know what you’ve been ingesting of late, I can only imagine, but you look like shit and this stuff is of absolutely no use to me. A baby seat, give me a fucking break, here,” thrusting the CD’s back almost under Snort’s runny nose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Got this drill Alfie, bet it probably works.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What, I’m a carpenter now or something?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Well, what about the computer?” Snort panicking and unable to hide the fact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Does it work?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Of course it does, you know me, Alfie.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, that’s why I asked. On second thought, why’d I even bother. Okay look, you can keep all this other shit for your dowry, I’ll give you ten bucks for the computer.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ten? Alfie, its worth at least six, er fifty, ain’t it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Forty bucks Alfie, that’s nothing to you. Come on look at it, come on, Alfie.” Snort lovingly brushed his bloodied hand across the laptop.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You drive a hard bargain Snort, but……. em, no. Look I’ll give you thirty bucks take it or leave it. It’ll get you enough of whatever it is your on, you can stay high until tomorrow, but you decide now, take it or leave it.” Alfie glanced around over his shoulder again, hoping no one was watching.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Alfie, come on, forty bucks…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No, see you later, Snort,” Alfie took a step away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Okay, okay man, Jesus, just yanking a little here, it’s yours, man, thirty bucks.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Alfie peeled off three ten dollar bills and handed them to Snort, then tucked the lap top under his arm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Snort, take this other shit with you, otherwise this joint’ll turn into a dump over night. And think about getting some sleep and maybe some food in you, Christ, you look like shit. Keep it up, you’ll be dead before the snow flies.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Alfie marched off to his car, looked around for anyone watching, then quickly placed the laptop in the rear of his PT Cruiser then reentered the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“She in the can?” he asked Jimmy the bartender, looking at his waiting drink and the empty Captain and Coke on the bar next to it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I think she split, Alfie. She downed that last one without coming up for air as soon as I put it down, then bolted out the front door,” Jimmy gathered up the empty glass, dumped the ice in the sink and placed the glass in a plastic rack waiting for the dishwasher.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Shit, did she run off with my cash?” Alfie lifted his glass of Jameson, examined the bar beneath, hoping his pile of cash might somehow magically appear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hunh, Jesus, looks like you might have paid for that one in advance, Alfie.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
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</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/62459?ref=Breezee1">Mr. Softee on Smashwords</a> $4.99</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">His newest book </span>(<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">cover coming soon!)</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br />
</span></u></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">1<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What did they do?” Mr. Softee screamed his bald head immediately going from beet red to dark purple. “You idiot. Did you hear anything I said? They tried to kill me for god’s sake.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">His real name was Weldon Sofmann. Although he insisted I call him Mr. Softee he was anything but. Screaming made him even more red-faced than normal. His crimson face propped up on the pile of starched white hospital pillows looked even more outlandish. Blips on the monitor screens arraigned alongside his bed jumped accordingly with every outburst.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’m telling ya they wanted to murder me. Only those brats showing up on their bikes stopped things from getting any worse.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What did the police say?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“The cops! You think I trust them? They were probably in on the deal, the bastards,” he screamed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. One of the monitors had now switched to alarm mode.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Oh, these goddamned things,” he reached up to yank the cord out of the monitor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The young woman introduced to me as Lola sat up just a little straighter in the vinyl visitor’s chair near the end of his bed. Using my acquired skills as a private investigator I deduced she was Mr. Softee’s daughter. She adjusted her blouse with both hands, pinched the cream-colored silk between thumb and forefinger, just above her belt line, then tugged.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Each one of her elegant, long red nails sported a delicate little gold design, and she seemed to function effortlessly despite the long-nail handicap. The tug exposed another inch or two of deep cleavage. She was beautiful, in a sort of peroxide way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">For the first time in twenty minutes she spoke, cautioning Mr. Softee in an exceptionally high, squeaky, little-girl voice,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Careful precious, remember what Doctor…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That quack? He should just stick to his job, which is getting me the hell out of here. Damn it, Haskins, they tried to kill me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Actually it’s Haskell, Devlin Haskell.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Mr. Softee glared at me for a couple of long seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Whatever. The bastards tried to kill me. They couldn’t buy me out, couldn’t run me out, so now they finally tried to kill me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Who’s they?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What in the hell am I paying you for? That’s what I want you to find out. You’re supposed to tell me just who in the hell did this.” With a wave of his hands Mr. Softee indicated the bandages wrapped around his left leg. The leg that was propped up on a series of pillows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Actually, sir, no offense, but you aren’t paying me, at least you haven’t yet. The first I heard of this was the message from your daugh… from Lola last night.” I nodded at the smiling Barbie doll sitting up straight in the vinyl chair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">She winked back slowly and licked her lower lip.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“So anyway, you haven’t paid me. Not that that’s the point. What makes you think this was intentional? I mean your car was….”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Car? That wasn’t just a car. That was a Mercedes CL 600. Know what they go for, Haskins?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Haskell.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“They start at about one twenty. Damn it, grounds right there to shoot the bastards.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“But what makes you so sure it wasn’t some idiot involved in a simple hit and run?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Simple! Does this look simple to you? I got a damn business to run. Think I can do that while I’m stuck in this nut house? Simple, he says, Jesus I ought to…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Thank you, Mister Haskell, we’ll be in touch,” Lola squeaked in her cartoon voice then slinked to her feet. With the six-inch stiletto heels she stood about five foot eight. Her skirt was just a little longer than the black belt and rhinestone buckle wrapped around her slim waist. She extended her right hand. When I took it she rubbed the back of my hand with her left, then raised an eyebrow and flashed a lustful smirk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Or was I just imagining that?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Mr. Softee looked out the window, unaware. His monitors had returned to a normal pattern.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Let me see about clearing my calendar, and I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“We look forward to it,” Lola smiled, still rubbing the back of my hand, in no apparent hurry to let go. She suddenly tickled the palm of my hand with her finger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Just find out who in the hell did this?” Mr. Softee grumbled from his bed, then turned back to the window, clenching and unclenching his jaw.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">2<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I didn’t really have a calendar, let alone one to clear. I popped by the Spot Bar, just to see if anyone was looking for me. No one was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Mr. Softee ruled an empire of ice-cream trucks. A fleet of pink-and-blue trucks every parent in the seven-county metro area had come to despise. The trucks crawled through neighborhood streets playing a chimed version of “Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone?” until you wanted to scream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Children ran back into their homes begging for two or three dollars for one of Mr. Softee’s overpriced ice-cream treats. Frankly, there was a part of me that was more than a little amazed some crazed father hadn’t tried to kill Mr. Softee long before now. I decided to do some checking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Economic development,” the voice cooed into the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Connie Ortiz, please,” I rasped back, hoping I’d disguised my voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Who may I say is calling, please?” You could almost hear the frost forming on the words. I knew it wasn’t going to work, but I foolishly tried anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’m calling on behalf of Haskell Investigations,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“And your name?” she asked, a chilling accusation in her voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Devlin Haskell,” I said grimacing, waiting for the expected blast. I wasn’t disappointed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Oh, I didn’t recognize your voice at first, just a cold? Hopefully.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Is this Sandy?” I asked, hoping to charm my way past the minefield.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Who, exactly, did you expect to be answering the phone?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I, I wasn’t sure. I thought it might be you, Sandy, but I really didn’t recognize your voice. It has been awhile, you know?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Mmm-mmm. Let me see if she can take your call. Hold please.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I knew the drill, I’d be on hold for three to five minutes, and Connie Ortiz would be unable to take my call. The truth was Sandy wouldn’t even try. Still upset about a minor fender bender I had driving her car a couple years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">We had been heading to my place. Sandy way too over served to drive, so I thought I’d help. Under the circumstances, it had seemed like a good idea at the time to just walk away from the accident scene. At three in the morning we quietly staggered away from what was left of the parked car and Sandy’s damaged Toyota. No good deed goes unpunished.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’m sorry, she must have stepped out. May I take a message and have her return your call?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Why bother? It’s the same every time I call. I knew Sandy never tried to reach Connie Ortiz. If I leave a message, Sandy won’t deliver it. It served me right for calling Sandy’s PMS hotline I thought, then said,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Okay, thanks for trying Sandy. If you could have her call me? She’s got my number. Great to talk…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sandy abruptly hung up. I’d have to reach Connie at home later tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You want another one, Dev?” Jimmy, bartender extraordinaire, nodded toward my empty Leinenkugel’s glass.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Thanks Jimmy, but I better not. I’ve got a pretty busy day,” I lied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Really? You got some business?” Jimmy sounded genuinely surprised.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, checking a few things out for Mister Softee, it shouldn’t take…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That ice-cream guy?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, that’s him.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I could have killed that prick a half dozen different times when the kids were little. It never failed, one of his damn trucks always showed up just before dinner. Damn kids screaming for ten bucks worth of ice cream. Ten bucks, hell, we didn’t have a dollar to our name back then. And that song, still makes my blood boil, that dog song, you know, they got that chime thing going with the damn bells. Son of a bitch always seemed to park right in front of our house. God, I don’t miss those days,” he said shaking his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, I know what you mean.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I made a mental note not to mention Mr. Softee again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You know who works for him, or did awhile back, Bernie?” Jimmy said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Bernie? You mean the burnout?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, you got him, Bernie Sneen. You know him, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Not really, except that he’s sort of missing a few cards from his deck.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Well, yeah, anyway, he was driving one of those trucks last I heard. Might explain the drug use, listening to that damn dog song chiming away, it’d drive anyone nuts.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Bernie? They let that guy near kids?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, I guess so.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“God.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">3<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I found Bernie Sneen in a different bar. There were at least four places he was a daily regular. He was in the third place I checked, Dizzies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">You could say Dizzies was a bit low on ambience, but then that would suggest there might be some. Dizzies was all business, and the business was drinking. The bar itself was no more than twelve feet wide from the back of the bar to the opposite wall. If you were looking for food, casual conversation, a fun night out, or pleasant company, this wasn’t the place.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It was dim, unfriendly, and smelled like the men’s room at a bus station. Bernie Sneen sat three stools in from the front door, bathed in the light of the overhead television displaying a soundless episode of “Skating with the Stars.” He seemed to be muttering to himself as I climbed on the worn vinyl stool next to him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hey, Bernie, long time no see. How’s it going?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">He looked over at me and nodded, his lips moving but involved in some other inner conversation. He put a hand up signaling me to wait a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What can I get you?” the bartender asked a moment later.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’ll have a Leinenkugel’s, give Bernie whatever he’s drinking.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ouzo and Heineken’s,” the bartender replied by way of explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bernie’s lips continued to move for another minute, until the drinks were delivered. He raised his glass of ouzo, nodded, then took a sip.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You’re that goofy P.I., right?” he asked after setting his shot glass down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Dev Haskell, we’ve talked a couple of times, I think in the Spot,” I said trying to steer things in a little more positive direction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bernie nodded, then just stared at his beer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Eventually I asked,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hey, weren’t you driving an ice cream truck for Mister Softee?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That bastard,” he said shaking his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, Mister Softee. You still driving for him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Nah, bastard laid me off. Didn’t like me drinking while I was driving, I guess. Jesus, what was I supposed to do, crawling along them streets about two miles an hour.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">He was quiet for a minute or two, then looked over at me and grinned idiotically. For the first time I noticed his glazed eyes blinked furtively in time to a slight facial twitch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I nodded, suggesting he actually made some sense.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bernie was one of those guys that no matter how you tried to clean him up he always looked like he needed a bath. At about six foot one he was two inches taller than me. I put his weight at forty pounds less, no more than one fifty. He had dark, thinning hair, too long and slicked back against his skull. Not so much a particular style as it was just unkempt. Sallow skinned, he was in need of a shave and sported an Adam’s apple the size of a golf ball on his scrawny neck. Not what you’d call attractive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“They catch you eating all the ice cream?” I joked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah right,” again with the idiotic grin. I noticed a dark hole on the left side of his mouth, about four teeth back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You ever deal with Mister Softee, himself?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">He glanced at me, I was quickly becoming an irritant now that he had finished the Ouzo and was more than halfway through the beer I’d purchased.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That bastard? I had to talk with him when I got my route, then the night post.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Night post?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bernie looked over at me, twitched a few times then stared straight ahead and sipped his Heinekens. I was definitely an annoyance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What do you mean, night post?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Look I don’t want to talk about it, if you don’t mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Just asking.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You work for the cops?” he asked, then proceeded to drain his glass.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“The cops, me? No. Just curious about the night post thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“And I said I didn’t want to talk about it. Jesus, what is it with you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Look Bernie, I…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Nice chatting,” he said, and jumped off his stool, twitched at me briefly, then quickly walked out into the sunshine, hands thrust deep in his pockets. I noticed his shoes, unlaced black high tops faded almost gray, with bright red laces. Bernie was ever the trendsetter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Get you anything else?” the bartender asked clearing away the empty shot glasses, then looked at my untouched beer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No thanks,” I said shaking my head. I took a cue from Bernie, climbed off the stool, and went out the door. I figured my beer wouldn’t go to waste; the bartender would probably serve it to the next person who came in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">4<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I called Connie Ortiz at home a little after 7:00 that night. We’d dated a few years back until Connie came to her senses and dumped me, although it was really one of those mutually agreed decisions. We got along well, joked when we ran into each other, which wasn’t too often.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hi, Connie, Dev Haskell.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hi.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hey, you got a minute to chat?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, but really not much more than that, kind of crazy you know. But go ahead, what can I do for you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I wanted to ask you about a business. In fact, I tried to reach you at your office earlier.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Today? I didn’t get a message.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Well, I spoke to Sandy, she…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Sandy? Oh, yeah, well, I think she’s still upset about that reckless driving charge a few years back.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, I know. I got that pled down for her Jesus, they were going to charge her with a DWI and leaving the scene. Under the circumstances she could have been looking at some jail time not to mention losing her license. She just can’t seem to get it through her head that…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Well, I don’t want to get into it, but you know she maintains she wasn’t even behind the wheel.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, I know. You’re right we probably shouldn’t get into that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I’d always wondered since Sandy had passed out, how could she possibly remember I’d been behind the wheel?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“So, how can I help you? I’m guessing you didn’t call about Sandy’s driving record.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Oh yeah, look I’m working on a project for a client. Can you tell me anything about Mister Softee?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Mister Softee, the ice-cream trucks?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Who’s your client?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’m going to have to interject client privilege here and not say.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Okay, I guess. Mister Softee, well, they’re pretty big. I’d guess they employ over a hundred people in this town.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What about competition?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Competition?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, is Mister Softee the only show in town? I’ve sort of been out of the ice cream demographic for about thirty years.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I can think of a couple of competitors, but they’re really small. Competitors in name only, and I can only think of one now that I mention it. I don’t know, but I would guess Mister Softee has about 99 plus percent of the market.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You ever dealt with him?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’ve met him a couple of times over the years. Wendell something.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Weldon,” I corrected.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, that sounds right. Like I said, I’ve met him but not what you might call dealt with him. I would say he is a very focused individual.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That’s a nice way to put it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That’s why I’m in the position I’m in.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You know of any group or individual who might wish him harm?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Off the record?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“As always.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No, to answer your question directly. Any competition he has, on the ice cream level, would be small players. I can’t see anyone doing something illegal if that’s what you mean. On the other hand, as I said, he is a very focused individual. I hear he can be rather difficult, ruthless may be a better term. Of course there have always been the rumors of the gambling thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, I’ve heard some of those rumors, too. What do you hear on that front?” I asked, wondering gambling?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Well, its always been alleged he’s involved in gambling, but the flip side of that is the term ‘alleged.’ To my knowledge nothing has ever been even remotely proven. I think there may have been a handful of incidents with some of his drivers, but then again, what sort of person wants to drive an ice-cream truck for a career?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I conjured up a brief image of twitching Bernie Sneen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I would expect he has to be fairly careful during the hiring process. Back ground checks, credit checks, that sort of thing,” Connie continued.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Another image of Bernie popped into my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Okay, but Connie, to your knowledge no one offers a competitive threat to him.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“A competitive threat to Mister Softee, for ice cream? No, I can’t imagine anyone providing much of a threat, it would be so expensive just to get started, let alone the overhead required with today’s fuel prices. I mean he loses six months a year just with bad weather. I just can’t see it. In fact, it’s nothing short of amazing that he’s done as well as he has. You know who you should talk to is the Scoop people.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Scoop people?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Over on the West Side, Double or Giant Scoop, something like that. I think they have a couple of trucks. They might be able to answer some of your questions. But now that I think about it, Mister Softee has a fleet, and the only competitor I can think of in town has two trucks. Anyway, give them a call, Staschio Lydell or Lydella, something like that. Hey look, Dev, I’ve gotta run. Great chatting, give me a call if I can be of any more help.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, I’ll call Sandy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Well, that might not be the best idea, but then again you can’t really blame her.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Thanks, Connie.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">5<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The Giant Scoop ice-cream company was located halfway down the Ohio Street hill, just across the High Bridge on the West side of St. Paul. The corporate head quarters, such as they were, were located in what looked to have been a neighborhood filling station sometime in the past. It must have been a distant past, the building was built in the late 1920s.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It was brick, painted white with faded blue trim. The roof was covered with red glazed tiles. There were two large overhead doors on the right side, one of which stood open. You could almost see a gas-station attendant waiting to fill your car, wash your windows, and check your air pressure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Two yellow ice-cream trucks emblazoned with giant ice-cream cones on three sides and a triple-scoop-cone hood ornament were parked out front. Two dark-haired young women, in cutoffs and T-shirts, were loading the trucks with boxes of ice-cream treats.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hi, I’m looking for Staschio,” I said, following up with my charming smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“He’s not here,” one of the girls said. Neither one stopped stacking the cardboard boxes into the rear of the trucks, they must have missed my smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">They looked alike, and I guessed they might be sisters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Do you expect him anytime soon?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Not really,” the one closest to me said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">She stopped what she was doing, wiped her hands on the dark green apron around her waist, then stuck out her hand to shake.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Sorry, I’m Jill, that’s my sister, Annie.” She nodded at the girl still loading boxes into the back of the other truck.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Dev Haskell,” I said shaking her hand. She had a firm grip, dark brown eyes, a bright smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hey,” Annie said, nodding in my direction, but not stopping her work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Our grandfather isn’t here, and we’re kinda busy getting ready for the day. What’s this about?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I took out a couple of my business cards, handed them to Jill.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Haskell Investigations, Devlin Haskell, private investigator,” she read, then looked up at me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Annie stopped loading ice cream and took one of the cards from Jill.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Is there some kind of trouble?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No, nothing like that. I’m just trying to learn more about the business and thought your grandfather might be able to help.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Learn more about the ice-cream-truck business? Why?” Annie asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, what on earth for, thinking of making a career change or something?” Jill laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No, just curious about what you do.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Look we sell twelve different ice-cream treats, usually to kids,” Jill said pointing at a menu painted on the back of the truck.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“We pay too much for product, pay too much for gas and taxes. Get raped by the city for a license. And by the time we repair whatever the latest breakdown will be on these trucks we have just about enough left over to pay ourselves almost a dollar an hour.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I looked from Jill to Annie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That’s about right,” Annie said, “except I think you’re a little high on the hourly wage part.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Tell you what, you got the time you can ride along with me today. That’ll answer just about any questions you might have,” Jill said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ride along with you? You mean in the truck?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No, on top of it. Yes in the truck. You up for it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Well, I don’t know I got a couple of other appointments that…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Jill glanced over at the Lincoln Town Car I’d parked on the street, dark green, except for the light blue door on the passenger side. Then there was the slightly buckled hood where a brick wall had jumped in front of me one night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah sure, appointments. You don’t have shit to do, do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I might.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Come on, I could use the company.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Annie was shaking her head as she wheeled the empty cart back into one of the garage bays. She pushed a button to automatically lower the overhead door and walked back to her truck.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’ll catch you two later,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“So?’ Jill asked me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, I guess, sure, why not?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">6<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Jill didn’t have a chime that played some obnoxious child’s song on her truck. Instead there was a bell that rang every thirty seconds. I wasn’t sure which was worse.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“This bell-ringing all day would drive me nuts,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the damn bell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Jill smiled and shook her head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Believe it or not you get used to it. Tell you the truth, I don’t even hear it anymore. Although, it is nice to get home at the end of the day to peace and quiet with maybe just the clock ticking.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">She was driving slowly along a residential street. Kids waved, you could see them running into the house theoretically to ask for money. Occasionally moms and kids flagged us down. Sometimes kids on bikes followed us. Despite Jimmy the bartender’s reaction, everyone I watched seemed genuinely glad to see us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Where do you live?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Just across the alley from the shop, it was my folks’ house. We grew up there. You?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“St. Paul, close to the Cathedral.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Jill nodded, then pulled to the curb as three kids waved currency and jumped up and down excitedly. Over the course of a few hours I handled the sales. Cherry and Root Beer Ice Bergs seemed to be big sellers. But then of course there was the always popular Fudgesicle. Eventually I got around to my client.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“So how do you guys stack up against Mister Softee?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That prick?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You’re not a fan?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Let’s just say no, and leave it at that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“So he’s the big success everyone is gunning for?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Jill looked over her shoulder at me. I was sitting sideways on a card table chair, leaning against a cooler filled with all the ice cream treats.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Not really. I’m sure that jerk doesn’t even know we exist. I mean we’ve been out here for what?” she checked her watch. “Over four and a half hours. You’ve seen the amount of business we’ve done and for a weekday this has been pretty good. I oughta bring you along more often, you’re good luck,” she smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Have you ever met the guy?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You mean Mister Softee, himself? No. He and my grandfather started out as partners, about a thousand years ago. Grandpa never talks about it, but he got screwed somehow. We just do our deal over here, in this neighborhood. Mister Softee covers the rest of the world,” she half laughed, then pulled over for a fat kid at the curb.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">At no surprise the kid knew the menu by heart.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Give me a banana Ice Burg, a chocolate ice-cream sandwich and a Giant Dilly bar, please.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It took me a moment to total things up. The Dilly Bar threw me, it was the first one I’d sold, two twenty-five each. The kid waited, drumming his fat little fingers on the counter impatiently, while I attempted to total things up in my head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That’ll be six dollars and seventy-five cents,” I said cheerily.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The kid glanced down at the exact change he’d laid on the counter almost five minutes earlier, six dollars and fifty cents. He shot a fake smile in my direction, snatched up the ice-cream treats, and fled the scene.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That’s what that kid needs, more ice cream. Want me to go after him?” I asked watching him waddle around the corner of a house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No, he’s a good customer, besides, it was six fifty not six seventy-five,” Jill said as she pulled away from the curb.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“So, you were telling me your grandfather was in business with Mister Softee.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That’s the story. I guess there was some sort of a falling out. I don’t really know anything about it, we just do our own thing. Is that who you’re working for, Mister Softee?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Me, Mister Softee? What makes you think that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I don’t know, maybe because it’s about the fourth time you’ve mentioned him. Maybe because I can’t think of who else would be interested in our business and now that you’ve seen it you can report back to your boss that there isn’t that much of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“He’s not my boss,” I shot back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“So you are working for that creep. I should have known. What? I suppose he’s gonna move a couple of trucks into our area, Jesus, you jerk. I’ll take you back. I’m sure you have a report to give him just as soon as possible.” I rocked back against the cooler as she accelerated down the street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hey, calm down, Jill. No, it’s nothing like that at all. If you want the truth, I’ll tell you, no need to get all offended,” I said stalling for time, doing a quick reassessment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Sure you will,” she said, and sped up even more, clearly not convinced.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I just met the guy the other day. He hired me to find out who attempted to kill him.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What, someone tried to kill that piece of poop, fantastic!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Sorry to be the one to break the news, I can tell you’re distressed.” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You just made my day. Wait till I tell Annie, she’ll freak.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, well the bad news is, I don’t think that’s what happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Mister Softee got pretty banged up in a car accident, broke a leg or something. He’ll recover, but…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Damn!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“He’ll recover, but I think it was just a hit and run that just happened to hit. I can’t believe anyone was out to get him.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Why not, the guy is an absolute butt hole, ask anyone,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Hey, that seems to be the common perception, I get that part. But his being dead, would that improve your business any? If he had been killed, would you or your sister sell anymore ice cream today as opposed to last week at this time?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Well, no.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“So, even though the guy is a jerk, and that seems to be the universal conclusion. I don’t see anyone in the ice-cream business crossing over the sane lane trying to kill the guy.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">She glanced back at me for a long moment, then returned to her driving, shaking her head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You better get your facts straight. I wasn’t thinking about his ice-cream business.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You said you work for the guy?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yeah, sort of, I already told you that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You better check with the cops. I know, I know, they can’t prove anything, but we have a pretty good idea of what the profit margins are in this business. Lose a dollar a day and make it up on volume, it just doesn’t add up.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What are you saying?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“What I’m saying is, here we are. You can get out here, thanks for riding along. Sorry it didn’t work out better, but you should have been up front with me,” she said, then pulled alongside my Lincoln, stopped, and stared straight ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Look Jill, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That’s okay, I’m not upset, honest, but I’ve got to get back to work so you better hop out.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Okay, its been interesting, thanks for your time and the help,” I said exiting. I was halfway out the rear door when she accelerated and sent me stumbling into the street. By the time I was on my feet she’d rounded the corner, and the clanging bell grew fainter and fainter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 14pt;">7<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No sir, like I said before, they’re gone. He checked out sometime last night. I came in this morning and learned they’d left.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I was talking with the station nurse on the wing where Mr. Softee had been. She didn’t seem all that upset that he was off her floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“He couldn’t have healed up that quickly, could he? I mean, I thought he had a broken leg. You guys had him immobilized with some cushion things, and he was on medications or painkillers or something.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I know. Actually a broken ankle, by the way. We recommended he not leave, but if the patient insists on wanting to check out, well at some point, there’s nothing we can do about it. Can’t say that we tried too hard to change his mind,” she added, the disdain in her tone apparent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Difficult patient?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Difficult couple. Look, I’ve got twenty-seven patients on this wing I’m responsible for. All of them have needs, questions, medications, scheduled procedures. I can’t station myself at any one door and wait to be at someone’s beck and call. That would be rather unfair now, wouldn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yes, I suppose so.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“So the Sofmanns decided that they would receive better care if they hired someone in their home. They’re probably right, provided there aren’t any complications and they employ qualified individuals. You have to have people who know and understand what should be done. There are inherent risks on all sides of that equation,” then she gave me a perfunctory nod.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I see.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Will there be anything else, Mister Haskell?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .4in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No, you’ve been quite helpful. Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"></span></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Contact me <a href="mailto:mikefaricyauthor@gmail.com" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" ymailto="mailto:mikefaricyauthor@gmail.com"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1307051905_1" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; cursor: pointer;">mikefaricyauthor@gmail.com</span></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Please check out all my books along with my latest release at my official web site <a href="http://www.mikefaricy.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1307051905_2">www.mikefaricy.com</span></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">E Books available at <a href="http://amazon.com/" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1307051905_3">Amazon.com</span></a>, <a href="http://barnesandnoble.com/" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1307051905_4">BarnesandNoble.com</span></a>, <a href="http://smashwords.com/" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1307051905_5">Smashwords.com</span></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Follow along at <a href="http://mikefaricy.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1307051905_6">mikefaricy.blogspot.com/</span></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-47996312073931318082011-05-25T21:17:00.001-04:002011-06-02T17:49:13.956-04:00<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Welcome to the Cozy Corner Reading Room!</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;">For more great books, visit The Book Shelf tab above</span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3-sDc3k3lw4/TZEmf5zN6qI/AAAAAAAAAD4/lmwusSELzRM/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3-sDc3k3lw4/TZEmf5zN6qI/AAAAAAAAAD4/lmwusSELzRM/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">This week's Featured Author:</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">Rose Gordon</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">Enjoy a sample of each of her books:</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004NNVB9E/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=2506&creative=9310&creativeASIN=B004NNVB9E%22%3EIntentions%20of%20the%20Earl%20(Scandalous%20Sisters,%20book%201)%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B004NNVB9E" style="color: #006599; text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: #006599;">Intentions of the Earl</span></a> $2.99 Kindle Edition</span></span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vNg2xi1CZco/TZu9HBXXHbI/AAAAAAAAAEk/GSR_1UJ5h8g/s1600/Rose+Gordon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vNg2xi1CZco/TZu9HBXXHbI/AAAAAAAAAEk/GSR_1UJ5h8g/s320/Rose+Gordon.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="212" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-weight: normal;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></div></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">INTENTIONS OF THE EARL<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">At exactly four in the afternoon a knock rattled the front door; followed by none other than the Earl of Townson being let in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Skulking about in the shadows, Brooke felt a little smile spread over her lips. She was glad he'd come.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">After a few minutes of drawing room chitchat, Andrew and Brooke climbed into a curricle and were off for a ride around the park.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“My favorite color is red,” Andrew stated blandly, his eyes alight with laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Confused by the proclamation, Brooke nodded and shrugged. “Mine's green.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That’s nice. I’ll keep that in mind. However, I had guessed that already, seeing as how your gown today is green. I believe the one you wore yesterday was, too,” he said, gesturing to her forest green gown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I guess I'm very obvious in what colors I like, unlike you. I have yet to see you wear red,” Brooke said pertly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I said my favorite color is red, not that I like to wear it,” Andrew parried.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Why would you tell me your favorite color? And, if it’s your favorite color, why not wear it?” she asked, favoring him with a curious look.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Just because I don’t want to wear it, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want you to wear it,” he countered, putting deliberate emphasis on the word “you”. “I’m telling you this so you know what color to choose during your visit to the modiste.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke turned her body the best she could to look him in his eyes. His cobalt blue eyes were looking straight at her as if they could see right through her. She didn’t know exactly what it was he could see, or if was a good or bad thing he saw. “Why would I be going to a modiste?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Andrew gazed at her perturbed facial expression, complete with a slight frown and knitted brow. “For your trousseau, darling,” he drawled. When her face turned pink, he pushed further, “But if you want, you can spare the expense of building a trousseau,” he shrugged with nonchalance, “nothing is the preferable outfit for one’s wedding night.” After her blush went to crimson, he winked at her. “But since you think a trousseau is necessary, you should know my favorite color is red. Oh, and I also like things that are filmy and transparent.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“And why would I be creating <i>my</i> trousseau with <i>your</i> favorite color?” she asked, astonished they were even speaking of such things. Both Mama and Liberty would be scandalized if they knew.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Letting go of the reins with one hand, he grabbed both of her hands with his one big one; then grinned at her. “You seem to be bent on the idea of becoming <i>my</i> countess. If you are to be the Countess of Townson; that would make me your husband, such as, I thought you should be aware that I will be the one, and only, to see you modeling said trousseau. Therefore, I just thought to tell you what color you should choose for my enjoyment.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Where was all of this coming from, Brooke wondered. Then it dawned on her, he was trying to bait her because of that note she’d written. “I’m so glad you told me. I quite forgot I have an appointment on Thursday. I shall remember to get something red and filmy just for you,” she said with a sensual smile. Then her smile faded, and she began to tap her finger against the side of her head as if she was in deep contemplation. “When I go in should I have these garments, and some much needed fashionable ball gowns, added to your account?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke thought she saw something flicker in his eyes, but it was gone before she could name it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I have no money, darling,” he drawled. “If you agree to marry me and be my countess, we will be known as the Penniless Earl and Countess of Townson,” he said jovially with a self-depreciating smile firmly on his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke couldn’t stop the little laugh that escaped her lips. “Well then, I suppose I could splurge with my pin money and buy my own trousseau. Don’t worry though, after we marry and you get my dowry, which is a whole fifty pounds, we’ll be rich and live like kings!” she teased.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> “Fifty pounds you say? Well, I don’t know about living like kings, but perhaps we could live like princes,” he said with a bright smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Oh yes! We could have so many wonderful things. We could go to the opera every night, and host huge house parties all Season,” she exclaimed playfully with a sparkle in her eyes. Brooke truly had a dowry, but it wasn’t a measly fifty pounds. In American dollars her dowry would have been larger; however, when exchanged into pounds it came to be about five thousand pounds. Just enough to be considered a generous amount, but not enough to be pursued by every fortune hunter. But just to be sure, her papa hadn’t made known the amount of her dowry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Andrew pulled the curricle to a halt and jumped down. After helping Brooke down, he led her to an unoccupied bench. “Here, let’s sit.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Flowers don’t grow in New York?” Andrew asked skeptically.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke laughed. “No, they grow. But with all the snow, ice and cold, we don’t get to spend very long looking at flowers; except roses of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Ah, roses, one of the few flowers that thrive in cold weather.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke took a seat on the bench and waited for Andrew to join her. “The rose is the most common flower found in New York,” she said, trying to fill the silence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Is it safe to say that you like roses then?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Of course, I wouldn’t be a true New Yorker if I didn’t,” she said in the thickest New York accent she could muster.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Shaking his head at her exaggeration of her accent, Andrew took a seat next to her on the bench. “So, dahling,” he drawled, trying to match her Yankee accent, “what color roses are your favorites?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke laughed at his imitation of her speech. “Why? Are you planning to buy me some?” She paused a second. “Oh right, I forgot you’re a pauper, you can’t buy them. Are you going to grow them for me?” She honestly doubted he’d ever given much thought to growing roses, or any type of flowers for that matter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’d definitely have to grow them, as I don’t have the extra funds for one stem,” he said earnestly. He placed his fingers under Brooke’s chin and turned her head to face him so he could look deep into her eyes. “You still did not answer my question. Which color do you prefer?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke blinked a few times. Many men had touched her face, tried to hold her hand, and some had even kissed her; but she had never really been comfortable with the intimacy of it, nor enjoyed it so much. Andrew’s touch seemed to scorch her skin. She wet her lips and stared straight into his blue eyes before answering. “It would depend on who they were from and the reason for giving them.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Her statement seemed to baffle him. “Could you please explain what you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Still looking into his eyes, Brooke took a deep breath and said, “Tell me who are they from and why they are giving me roses; and I’ll tell you what color they should choose.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Andrew dropped his fingers from her chin and moved them to where her hands were folded in her lap. “From me. Just because.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke gasped. “Um...” she cleared her throat, “in that case, white or yellow would be the right color.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“The right color?” Andrew questioned, lifting his brow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Yes, the right color.” At his look of uncertainty, she went on, “Different color roses represent different things. White roses represent purity or sympathy. They are often used for bouquets for brides to show innocence. Sometimes white roses are sent to people who are sick or who have suffered a loss to represent sympathy. Yellow roses symbolize friendship or happiness; they can also be given by a friend of either sex. Therefore, from you, a man of my acquaintance, or a friend, yellow or white would be appropriate.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Andrew nodded. “Didn’t you forget a few colors?” he asked, smiling at her when she gave a weak nod. “What about pink or red? Why could I not give you those colors?” he asked softly, stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke was distracted by his hands on hers. “In order to give those colors the relationship and the feelings would have to be different. Deeper.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Deeper? Does that mean that a fiancé could give pink or red roses?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Distracted by his hands that had turned hers over and were now rubbing circular motions on the inside of her palms with his thumbs, Brooke slightly nodded. Moistening her lips, she said, “Yes; that would be appropriate. The pink ones could be given to a fiancé. Pink roses represent elegance and great appreciation or admiration. The red ones though, are strictly for love, true love. Maybe a fiancé could receive them, or even a woman you want to be your fiancé. A wife for sure could receive red roses—if you love her, that is. You really shouldn’t be giving red roses to someone that you don’t have a strong relationship with or that you don’t love for that matter. Because then she might get the wrong idea. She might think you love her, when in fact, you do not have that strong of feelings for her.” Brooke was oblivious of her rambling; she was too busy thinking about the way his touch made her skin tingle. During her ramble, his hands had removed her left glove and his fingers were dancing every so lightly on her wrist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">When his thumb grazed her wrist again, she shivered then suddenly jumped up and pulled her hands from his searing grasp. “Oh my, I think we should be going,” she insisted quickly, her words flying out of her mouth faster than a bird being chased by a cat. “It’s getting late and I don’t want Mama to wonder what has happened to us. She does worry so terribly much about us here in London. She says it is not as safe here as we’re used to back home. I don’t know if she thinks we are going to be nabbed right off the street or what, but she is ever so over cautious. Really, we must be going.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“All right, I shall return you at once. We wouldn’t want to risk being robbed sitting here in this vacant part of the park,” Andrew joked, taking to his feet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Brooke gave a light smile. She knew he probably thought she was a ninny; but the truth was that he was too distracting by far, and she needed to go before she embarrassed herself. She had never felt this way when any of the other gentlemen had touched her. What’s worse, he’d barely touched her in comparison to what some of them tried to do. With other gentlemen it tickled, or if they had calluses, they’d scratch her skin. But Andrew’s touch was different, it was hot and searing. It felt perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">So perfect, she knew she might do something she shouldn’t if she didn’t put a stop to his touching at once.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">The ride back to her residence was for the most part filled with companionable silence. “I enjoyed our ride today. If you are agreeable, I would like to go for another tomorrow or the next day,” Andrew said, breaking the silence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“That would be lovely,” she murmured. The she smiled wryly and added, “It will have to be tomorrow or in two days, because the day after tomorrow is Thursday, and I have my appointment at the modiste.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Andrew shook his head. “You may want to wait a bit on that, at least until I grow you a pink rose.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Most people would be embarrassed by his direct mention of their gaffe, but Brooke was not one of them. In mock irritation she exclaimed, “You, sir, could not be so lucky. I will be waiting for a red one!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“A red what?” asked a voice from the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Both Brooke and Andrew turned to see Liberty standing in the doorway, her hands firmly on her hips. “Oh nothing, Liberty,” Brooke said trying to turn the attention off of them. How had they gotten back here so fast? “What are you doing outside on the steps?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Waiting for you,” she stated flatly. “You’ve been gone for more than an hour, without a chaperone I might add.” She sent a blistering stare at the couple. “See, even Lord Townson agrees, he’s nodding his head.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Andrew was in fact nodding his head, but Brooke highly doubted it was because he agreed with what Liberty was saying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Ignoring Liberty, Andrew helped Brooke down from the curricle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Lord Townson, I did enjoy our afternoon together and I look forward to going again sometime,” Brooke told him as a goodbye before this nonsense with Liberty could continue any further.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I also enjoyed our afternoon, and I shall call upon you again in the near future, Miss Banks,” Andrew said, taking his cue and climbing back onto the curricle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Wait!” screamed Mama, running outside and looking all out of sorts. “Before you go, I wanted to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. I would be absolutely delighted if you would come and join us for our evening meal.” Allowing Andrew no time to agree or refuse, she quickly added, “We eat at eight sharp. You’ll need to be here a little early. Quarter till should be sufficient. We look forward to it.” She waved to Andrew and stepped back into the house. “Come girls!” she chirped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" /></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6pt;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rcLEeV8v8dM/Td2ng9MezUI/AAAAAAAAAGk/d7Rua-hEEZo/s1600/Rose+Gordon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rcLEeV8v8dM/Td2ng9MezUI/AAAAAAAAAGk/d7Rua-hEEZo/s320/Rose+Gordon2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6pt;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><o:p><br />
</o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6pt; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><o:p><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Liberty-Paul-Scandalous-Sisters-ebook/dp/B004RZ2ZOS/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1306371897&sr=1-3">Liberty For Paul</a></o:p></span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: 28px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Paul rubbed his fingers over his face. Pulling his hands back, he stared at his fingers. They had more wrinkles than a ninety year old woman. It was definitely time to get out of the tub.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Standing up, he twisted his body and reached for the towel he knew was on the stool behind him. But instead of landing on a fluffy towel, his hand was met with the hard wooden surface of the stool. Fully turning his body around to better see the offending piece of furniture, Paul discovered the stool did not hold a towel at all. All he saw on top of the wooden seat was his wire rimmed spectacles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Stepping out of the tub, he put on his spectacles and looked under and on both sides of the stool. There was not a towel in sight. He frowned. He remembered specifically asking the maid for a towel and taking it from her when she came back. Then he’d gone behind the screen and placed it on the stool before disrobing. Where had it gone?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Paul sighed. It wasn’t a problem; he’d just stand there a few minutes to let the air-dry his body, then he’d put on his clean clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">When his skin felt dry enough to drag his clothes over, Paul stepped out from behind the screen and walked over to where he’d laid his clothes out on the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Reaching the bed, Paul groaned with deep irritation. Had the maid accidentally taken his clean clothes? He’d heard her come in during the middle of his bath and assumed she was trying to please her employer by being efficient. Not being used to a lot of servants, he hadn’t question her activities. It did make sense why she’d taken the wrong clothes; they were the only clothes on this side of the screen. The clothes he’d worn earlier were in a pile on the other side of the screen. Shaking his head, Paul padded over to the corner to dig out a different set of clothes from his trunk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Leaning over at the waist, he slowly opened his trunk. With one hand holding up the lid, he bent over and extended his fingers to snatch up whatever clothes were on top. Not being bent far enough, he bent further and further until his bare arse was straight up in the air and his fingers collided with the hard bottom of his empty trunk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Straightening himself up and abruptly letting go of the lid, causing it to crash down on the box with an echoing thud, Paul grabbed a match off the bottom of the wall sconce that was directly above his trunk and lit the lamp. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him, or perhaps his vision—even with spectacles—was so bad he'd been reaching beside the chest. Those were the only explanations he was willing to entertain for his recent discovery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Lamp lit and glowing, Paul yanked open the lid of his trunk with more force than necessary only to reveal what he already knew was in there: nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Slamming down the lid, Paul made a noise of irritation. This was the work of one person: Liberty. He’d been told the family was out visiting the earl and countess, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t given orders to the maid before she left. Now it made sense why the maid came in while he was bathing. And why his towel had gone missing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Angrily, Paul stalked across the room. No matter how much John tried to smooth this over, he wasn’t staying. Having his clothes stolen was not his idea of an enjoyable visit. And this was only the first night. Who knew what other treats she had in store for him! He’d just have put on the clothes he’d worn earlier, even if they were wrinkled and slightly wet from the snow. He knew these clothes were in the room. He’d taken them off and thrown them in a heap at the far end of the tub. The maid hadn’t come behind the screen. Well, she’d had to in order to grab his towel from behind his back; but she hadn’t gone to the end of his tub and collected his dirty clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Rounding the screen, Paul swiftly walked to the end of the tub and leaned down to retrieve his clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Looking for something?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Chapter 3<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Paul’s hands instinctively flew to his privates and his head snapped up so fast he was left with a dizzy feeling—or maybe the dizzy feeling was caused by the sight that presented itself in front of him, he wasn’t sure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Not three feet away, standing by the fireplace was his nemesis: Liberty Banks; and she was holding his clothes—directly over the roaring fire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">They weren’t actually on fire. Yet. He considered that good fortune, indeed. “Would you kindly give me back my clothes?” Paul asked irritably, glancing down at his hands to make sure he was covered properly. She might have an illusion that he owed her the privilege of viewing his body because he’d seen hers. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t in the mood to become a source of virgin entertainment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Liberty laughed. “You don’t need to cover up. I already saw your…” she trailed off and sent a pointed look to where his hands were doing their best to shield her view of him. She smiled up at him with a crooked smile. Her dull brown hair was coming loose from the hideous bun she always wore on the top of her head and a lock was falling in her face, partially covering one of her hazel eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Nonetheless,” he said stiffly, twisting his body to offer more protection from her gaze. “Your game is up. And unless you want to see it again, you’ll give me my clothes back.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Are you threatening me, Mr. Grimes?” Liberty asked archly, lowering her hand an inch and bringing his clothes that much closer to the flames. “It seems to me that I hold all the cards. Or clothes, as the case may be.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Indeed,” Paul conceded. Did she <i>want</i> to see him naked? A chill ran down his spine. Only one way to find out. Turning back to face her, he said, “Well, if you’ve already seen it, and you’re still holding my clothes, then I guess you didn’t get a good enough look. Do you want another peek?” He took delight as her eyes widened when he moved one of his hands away, still leaving him somewhat covered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Under normal circumstances he’d never be so bold as to issue such a challenge, or follow through with it, but his irritation with her, coupled with his strong desire to have his clothes back and be on his way, was impacting his brain and turning him into someone he didn’t recognize.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Outstretching his free hand, Paul asked, “May I please have my clothes back now, or do I need to remove my other hand and get them myself?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Why should I give you your clothes back?” she demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Because now we’re even,” Paul snapped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“We’re not even,” she responded sharply, her gaze at his waist, absorbing what was exposed to her curious eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No? Would you like to bathe me, is that it?” he countered, slowly reaching for the clothes she held hostage above the fire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No,” she snapped, her eyes flying to his. She took the small bundle of his clothes and brought them to her chest, wrapping both arms around them and clutching them tightly to her chest. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“All right; then give me back my clothes.” He reached out further, attempting to grab them from her arms, but she was holding them with all her might and he knew that in order for him to get them back he’d have to use both hands.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Liberty smiled at him again. If he weren’t so infuriated with her at the moment, he’d almost think she looked pretty. Of course nobody else, including Liberty, he’d bet, actually thought she was. She had plain brown hair matched with hazel eyes and a long nose. Her mouth was wide with slightly crooked teeth and she was nearly as thin as a scarecrow. Her looks would be considered plain at best, not pretty or ugly really, just plain. But when she smiled, it lit up her face and transformed it in a way that he found rather attractive. Trouble was, she barely ever smiled; and never specifically at him—until just now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You’ll get your clothes back when I’m satisfied I’ll never have to clap eyes on you again,” Liberty said tartly, still smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I agree,” Paul said heartily, more than happy to oblige her. “Give me my clothes and I’ll be gone in less than ten minutes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Liberty shook her head. “No, that’s not good enough. I need insurance. I need to know you’ll not be coming back into this house, or my presence, ever again.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“And taking my clothes is going to accomplish that?” Paul could feel his irritation growing again. Why didn’t she just give them back to him already?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> “Don’t worry, you’ll get them back—eventually,” Liberty said, scooting along the wall away from the fireplace and to the shadowed corner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Listen here,” Paul hissed. “If you think that you’re going to continue to hold my clothes while I stand here naked, you’re greatly mistaken. I’ll get my clothes back one way or the other; and if you don’t give them back on your own accord, you’ll wish you had.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“How so?” she queried from the dark corner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Paul slowly walked closer to where she was. He could hear the rustle of fabric and knew she was about to do something with his clothes. He just didn’t know what. “I’m not keeping myself covered because of my own modesty.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’ve already told you that you could move your hands, I already saw your thing,” she said nonchalantly, a ripping noise following her words.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Paul didn’t believe her the first time she’d told him she’d seen his tool, and he certainly didn’t believe it when he moved his first hand and her eyes were drawn to his waist like a moth to a flame. But enough was enough, and if he had to wrestle her to the ground naked in order to get his clothes back, so be it. Removing his other hand from his privates, he raced to the corner, bent on grabbing his clothes from her evil clutches.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Liberty squealed and ran in the opposite direction, causing him to nearly collide with the wall. Throwing caution—and pride—to the wind, Paul ran after her. He chased her around the furniture, going over the bed, around the wardrobe, behind the screen, around the tub, to the vanity, and back to tub, knocking over the screen with a loud crash as they zipped by. Paul reached out and stopped her by grabbing the loosened ribbon on the back of her gown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’ve got you now,” he breathed in her ear after he’d tugged her back to rest against his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“No, you don’t,” she said, moving in such a way that made the ribbon he held slide through the loops, freeing her from his hold. She immediately scurried to resume her former position by the fireplace.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Paul looked down in his hand where the ribbon that had once been the making of a bow on the back of her gown now lay across his palm in a wrinkled mess. Looking back up, he saw Liberty over by the fireplace with her gown in complete disarray. Most of the buttons going down the front were undone, showing the tops of her breasts and about three inches of her corset. Her gown looked torn by the sleeve and the skirts were crumpled beyond repair. Her hair, for the most part, had fallen down and looked to be in an awful tangle. There was no way she could look like that after briefly running around the room, could she?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Throwing the ribbon down to the floor in disgust, Paul looked at her. She had a blank expression on her face and her gaze was leveled on his waist. But he didn’t even care. He was beyond caring. “See something you like,” he teased, hoping to distract her with his words so he could grab his clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Her face turned crimson and she pulled her eyes up to his face, not quite meeting his eyes. “Actually, no I didn’t. I think I would’ve liked what I saw much better if that scar,” she pointed to a jagged scar he had on his left hip that ran from his hipbone to half an inch from another part of his anatomy, “went just a little further over,” she said, her eyes flashing fire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“You’re a bloodthirsty one, aren’t you,” Paul said easily. Leave it to her to want him emasculated, as if this whole situation wasn’t bad enough already.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’m not bloodthirsty,” she said hotly. “It’s just a shame, that’s all.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“A shame I was not unmanned?” he asked disbelievingly. “I think that part of my anatomy has suffered at your hands enough already, thank you.” What had he ever done to her to make her have this hatred for him?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> “How did it happen?” she asked quietly, ignoring his remark.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Paul was in awe. Her voice had been so quiet it was hard to be certain, but he could have sworn her tone had held a hint of sympathy. “When I was twelve, my brother Sam and I found my uncle’s old fencing rapiers. Never having had a fencing lesson, we started wildly swinging them around at each other. Neither of us realized the protective tip wasn’t on Sam’s very well until in one undisciplined swing, Sam’s tip flew off and his rapier cut me.” Paul saw her wince and added ruefully, “Although you’ve expressed disappointment that his rapier did not travel further, I’m rather glad it stopped where it did.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“I’m sorry for my remark, it was most unkind of me,” Liberty said softly, still looking at his scar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">“It’s all right,” he assured her. Compared to all the other things she’d said or done, that was nothing. “May I have my clothes now?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">His words pulled Liberty out of her trance. Looking down at the clothes in her arms and her own gown, she bit her lip before she looked up and met his eyes again. “I…I...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">It didn’t matter what she was going to say or do next because just then, the door to his bedchamber swung open and was followed by a shriek of surprise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Though Paul had his back to the door, he knew who it was; and just for further confirmation, he knew with certainty he’d guessed right when Liberty turned as white as chalk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" /></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xlpp_xwlSFI/Td2n3ypZ0xI/AAAAAAAAAGo/XE0ejWXlCzs/s1600/Rose+Gordon3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xlpp_xwlSFI/Td2n3ypZ0xI/AAAAAAAAAGo/XE0ejWXlCzs/s320/Rose+Gordon3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6pt;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wayward-Wife-Scandalous-Sisters-ebook/dp/B004WLOG62/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1306371897&sr=1-1">TO WIN HIS WAYWARD WIFE</a><o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>August, 1813<o:p></o:p></i></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>London, England<o:p></o:p></i></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison Banks knew it was her brother-in-law, Paul Grimes, who was speaking. She heard his voice and listened to his words, but she couldn’t seem to force herself to focus on them. Instead, her focus was directed solely at her groom.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">He was tall, handsome, titled and wealthy. Every girl’s dream come true. Except hers. To be honest he gave her the chills. And not the good kind, either. No, these chills were the kind that sent people into hiding. He sent <i>her</i> into hiding. Not to say he was mean to her, because that would actually be a lie. He had been extremely nice to her at one point—which was part of the reason why she now found herself standing up in front of hundreds of people pledging her life to him.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It all started eight short weeks ago when her parents had just gone away to America to make arrangements to have their household moved to England, her father’s homeland. Her sister, Brooke Black, Lady Townson, along with her husband Andrew, Lord Townson, stepped in to act as her chaperone and guardian while her parents were away.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">At first things had gone well. Very well, in fact. Brooke played her chaperone’s role in regular Brooke fashion. In short, she wasn’t a very good one. She often allowed Madison to go on unchaperoned carriage rides in the park and would leave the room for half-hour intervals to go check on her newborn while Madison was left unattended with a gentleman. Madison hadn’t complained about such things. She rather enjoyed that Brooke gave her the freedom Mama hadn’t allowed.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">However, it wasn’t due to Brooke’s lack of chaperoning skills that led to Madison’s demise. That was completely her own doing.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A month ago she’d been at a ball surrounded by countless gentlemen fawning over her bright blonde hair, clear blue eyes and porcelain skin, all the while, she was thinking what a load of simpletons they all were. Why couldn’t anyone notice anything deeper about her than her outward appearance, she wondered. She knew she’d acted shy and withdrawn the previous Season, but she’d been dancing waltzes and going to numerous social events for the past few months and all anyone could notice was her looks.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">No one cared about the charitable works she did for others. Nor did anyone see her personal talents. No; all anyone saw was her striking beauty, and they were all so struck dumb by it they couldn’t function properly in her presence.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Annoyed with the inane comments of the imbeciles around her, she decided it would be best to dance and endure the company of only one dullard instead of a dozen. The orchestra started playing the opening strains of a waltz and Madison caught sight of her brother-in-laws walking across the ballroom. Curious, her eyes shifted to search the direction they were walking, and that’s when she thought her world was about to collapse around her.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Directly across the ballroom from Andrew and Paul stood Robbie Swift, the no-good, filthy cad who ruined her life. No, wait, that wasn’t entirely true. Her family may blame him for ruining her life, but they knew just as well as Madison did that she was just as responsible. <o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Robbie had been a local banker’s son back in Brooklyn, New York. He’d been tall, handsome and undeniably charming. He’d had all the workings of a young girl’s fairy tale husband.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">He was only two years older than Madison, and when she and Brooke were young girls, the three of them would play together (when they could manage to ditch their youngest sister, Liberty, that is). As they entered their teenage years, Robbie was no longer a playmate but just another person of acquaintance. He’d attend her father’s church and played the flirt to all three of the Banks sisters. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on who you ask—Madison was the only member of the Banks family who could abide him.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Brooke could hardly tolerate him as a playmate when they were younger, and her feelings for him didn’t change as they grew older. Only because of Madison’s never ceasing protests did Brooke finally quit trying to fling rocks at him with a makeshift slingshot.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Liberty wasn’t much better in hiding her dislike for Robbie. However, instead of hurling rocks at him or pouring large quantities of salt in his tea like Brooke, she’d drone on and on about how much she didn’t enjoy his presence and wished he’d either marry Madison or go find another girl to annoy.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Mama and Papa were the only ones who attempted to cover their dislike for him. They’d casually have conversations with her, dropping hints about other eligible gentleman or suggest she take a break from the courtship with Robbie and see what happens.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But no, Madison didn’t want their advice. She wanted Robbie. She had to have him no matter what. For a brief time she considered taking her parents advice and focusing on another gentleman, but when she’d heard he’d made some unflattering remarks about her, she strengthened her resolve and started to pursue Robbie like a cat chasing a mouse.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The problem was she, being the cat, had been declawed, not that such a thing was possible, mind you, but metaphorically of course. She could chase him into a corner and almost have him in her clutches, then he’d scurry away and she’d be on the chase again. This cat and mouse game where she chased him and he escaped her grasp at the last minute went on for five years. Yes, that’s right five <i>years</i>! Now some would say a courtship is usually about five months. Or some might even be five weeks. And then, of course, there are the ones that are rather odd at five days. But five years? That’s unheard of. And yet, that’s how long the cat chased the mouse. Actually, cat and mouse is a bad analogy. A better analogy would be a puppeteer and puppet. However, in this analogy, Madison would undeniably be termed the puppet.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">For five years she danced to his tune in hopes of becoming Mrs. Robert Swift. And in the end, that honor went to a weak ninny named Laura Small.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Laura was a spoiled southern girl who had never so much as seen needle and thread in a person’s hand as they weaved it in and out of cloth. She’d grown up in southern Georgia on a booming cotton plantation. She flounced her way into New York spending money as if it grew on a cotton plant. She used her sugary-sweet southern voice to get the men to do her bidding with nothing more than a few compliments and a sickening grin. Within a week, she was the belle of all the balls. Within another week, she was Mrs. Robert Swift.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">While Madison and Robbie had an unusually long courtship of five years that led nowhere, Laura and Robbie had an unusually short courtship of five days that led to the altar. Talk about the injustice of the world!<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Only a month after the blessed event of two heartless, coldblooded creatures becoming one, Madison’s family decided it was time to visit Papa’s family in England.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Their intention was only to stay a few months, but when her older sister, Brooke, married an earl and announced a few months later she was in the family way, her parents decided to stay a bit longer. Then came the unexpected marriage of her younger sister, Liberty, to a country vicar named Paul Grimes. When it turned out that two of their three daughters were happily married in England, Mama and Papa decided it would be best if they took up residence in England as well, which was why they were absent for the ball.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">She’d been in England over a year now and had attended more balls than she cared to count. Not that she didn’t like to dance, she did. The problem was she didn’t want to marry. Robbie’s betrayal had cut deep. Deeper than she thought possible. So brutal his treatment of her, she didn’t think she could ever trust a man again.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">She’d lived her life constantly lost in a daydream for nearly a year before allowing herself to open up and enjoy life again. She’d erected walls around her heart and vowed she’d never be so careless as to trust another with it again.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So naturally, when she saw that miserable scoundrel that had the nerve to call himself a man, she started to panic. Hundreds of questions swirled around in her head, but they all came down to: what did he want now. She knew he hadn’t come here for anyone else. He only knew one other person in England besides her family, and that person was a commoner. She knew he wasn’t here for Liberty or Brooke, she was certain of that, which meant he was here for Madison.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Knowing he’d probably spotted her already, she fought to keep her calm as she weighed her options. She could dance the night away with any number of gentlemen that were currently swarming around her like bees to a hive and ignore him in hopes he’d leave. She could make her way to seek refuge with her sisters and wait for their husbands to toss him out like she knew they were about to do. Or she could slip out of the ballroom and run to her bedchamber for the remainder of the night.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Glancing at the herd of sheep dressed as gentlemen that surrounded her, she ruled out option number one. Shifting her gaze to where Brooke and Liberty were, she saw she’d have no choice but to walk directly in front of him as she walked to the staircase that led to Brooke’s look-out. That only left retiring for the evening. That wouldn’t be a bad option, she supposed. She’d just have to make her way to the side doors and walk through the gardens to get into the main part of the house.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Plan in place, she excused herself from her adoring pack and started to walk in the direction of the gardens. With each step she took, she felt her blood pumping faster through her veins. She could feel his razor sharp blue eyes staring at her as she made her way to the edge of the ballroom. Reminding herself to breathe and stay calm, she forced a smile to her lips as she passed a handful of curious guests. She heard footsteps behind her and almost froze. He was following her. Had Andrew and Paul not been able to rid this place of his unpleasant presence?<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Willing herself once again to calm down, she out reached her shaking, clammy hand to open the door. Her palm so sweaty she could barely hold onto the knob as she gave it a twist. Swallowing the lump of panic that had formed in her throat, she tried again. Relief temporarily flooded her when the door swung on its hinges and she was able to slip outside.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Though the gardens were dimly lit, Madison had been in them enough she could navigate them with a blindfold. All but running, she scurried down the steps, around the shrubs, through the bushes and over a concrete bench in an effort to get to the door. She grasped at the brass knob to open the door just as she heard her name being called.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Her hands froze. Her heart froze. Her blood froze. It was <i>his</i> voice. The voice that used to whisper in her ears words of love and affection. The one that made promises of a future filled with love, happiness and children. The voice she’d tried for so long to forget.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Madison,” he called, turning her skin to gooseflesh.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Ignoring him, she tried to open the door. There were no lights around the door, if she could just slip in and lock the door behind her, he wouldn’t be able to find her. But that was the problem, she couldn’t slip in. The knob wouldn’t turn. It was locked.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Blast,” she exclaimed quietly through clenched teeth. She remembered she’d once swiped a key to the front door and kept in her reticule. She just hoped it would work for this door.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Oh, Madison darling, where are you?” Robbie drawled, causing her fingers to tremble as she dug for her key. “I know you’re out here.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream in frustration. She wanted to get this blasted door open. Her fingers closed around the key and she held it tightly as she pulled it from her bag.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“You know you want me,” he said, his voice sounding closer than before.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Her fingers shook as she tried to jam the key into the keyhole. Every time she came close to getting the tip in, her shivering hand would miss and she’d scratch the knob with the end of the key.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“You know, those two body guards you got in there should have known better than to just escort me out,” he said with a chuckle. “They have no idea of our feelings for each other, eh. Oh well, who could fault them for thinking I’m too much a gentleman to jump a fence to get to the woman I love. That’s right, Madison, I said love. I love you. Now come out of hiding so we can talk.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison’s hands briefly stilled from their chore of trying to get the key in the lock. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Love. Did the man really think after all this time he could prance back into her life to say he loved her and everything would be all dandy between them? If that was his great plan at winning her back, he was completely addled.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Now come on, pet,” he drawled again, making her blood curdle. “Get your luscious derriere out here so we can talk.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">His words shocked her and the key she’d been holding slipped to the ground to make a light ringing <i>clink</i> on the flagstones. All the blood seemed to rush from her head and she began to panic again. What if he’d heard the key hit the ground and came closer? Numbly, she tried to bend down to pick it up. Halfway to the ground, she saw a shadow that caused her to freeze in place.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Too dark to make out the face of the man next to her, she stared in silent shock as a giant hand reached down and picked up the brass key. The man stood up and slipped the key into the lock with extraordinary ease before putting his hands on her waist and helping nudge her into the dark house.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">No lamps were lit inside and the pair stood in complete darkness.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Thank you,” she said at last.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“You’re welcome,” a vaguely familiar voice returned behind her.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">They stood together in silence for another moment while Madison waited for her heart to slow down to normal. But the longer she waited, the more she realized it wasn’t slowing down. Robbie was still outside yelling for her and becoming more crass each time he spoke.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Oh, why is he here?” she muttered to herself. “Why can’t he just leave me alone?” She brought her hands up and covered her face. She felt like she was going to faint. Just as she could feel herself about to crumple to the floor, two strong hands came up and pulled her backward to rest against his hard body.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“It’s all right,” he murmured in her ear. “I told Townson I saw the scoundrel jump the rock wall. He’ll take care of him in a minute.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly. Robbie was right when he pegged Andrew as too good a gentleman to guess Robbie would come back. Andrew was the sort that stayed calm and always gave people the benefit of the doubt—at first. Then, if they betrayed his trust, they normally regretted it.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">She’d heard tale from more than one source that he’d been involved in a number of fisticuffs. His most notorious partner being the Duke of Gateway, the man who’d tried to pay him last spring to ruin her sister Brooke. Those two had apparently had their share of scrapes over the past fifteen years and had each broken the others noses at one point. She had no doubt that with Andrew being built like a tree the way he was and Robbie being no bigger than a twig, Andrew could easily break him. “I hope he doesn’t kill him,” she remarked when she heard Andrew’s angry voice.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“He won’t,” the voice behind her said. “Do you love him?”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Who? Andrew?” she asked, automatically ruling out the chance he could be asking about Robbie. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? He’s always been kind to me.” Not to mention he was her brother-in-law.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“What of Mr. Swift?”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison closed her eyes. “No.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Then why don’t you want him hurt?”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“I didn’t say that,” she corrected. “I said I hoped Andrew doesn’t kill him. In case you didn’t see him, Robbie is as big as a quill. All Andrew has to do is hit him once and he’ll snap in half.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The man chuckled. “You think they’re unevenly matched, do you?”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Of course,” she burst out with a nervous giggle. “I’m not a coldblooded monster or anything, but I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Robbie roughed up a little. At the same time, I don’t want his blood on Andrew’s hands. Anyone who’s ever seen Andrew knows it wouldn’t take any effort on his part to hurt Robbie.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Do you think Mr. Swift is a weakling who cannot defend himself?”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Yes,” she answered bluntly. “I mean no offense to him in that regard, but the truth is, I’ve seen the man felled by a pebble my sister shot at him from a makeshift slingshot.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Was this a reenactment of David and Goliath put on for your father’s church?” the man asked, his chest rumbling with a chuckle.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“No,” she said, shaking her head and trying not to giggle. “Robbie tried to flip Brooke’s skirt up one Sunday after church and after she kicked his hand away, he got angry and tripped her. That’s when she ran inside and took of who knows what piece of her clothing and used it to hurl a rock no bigger than her pinky nail at his head. He fell to the ground like he was a lead weight.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The stranger laughed quietly and his hands squeezed her a little tighter. “That must have been quite a sight.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Oh, it was. But his wailing wasn’t. He moaned and groaned in pain for nearly five unbearably miserable minutes before he realized nobody was paying him any mind. Except me, of course. I was the only one stupid enough to fall for his theatrics,” she said bitterly, shaking her head.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“You’re not stupid,” his calm voice said behind her.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Silence fell over them once again as they listened to heated exchanges and what Madison would swear were sounds of an impending fight outside.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A sudden unmistakable crack followed by a loud thump of a body hitting the ground made Madison jump nearly out of her skin. “Perhaps I should go out there before something else happens,” she said hastily, trying to turn around.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">His hands tightened. “No,” he said softly in her ear. “You’re not needed out there.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Excuse me?” she asked disbelievingly. “Who are you to tell me where I am or where I’m not needed?”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">He didn’t answer.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Who was this man anyway? Who was he to tell her what to do? Did he not realize how much worse it would all be if she didn’t stop Andrew before it was too late? “I really think I need to get out there,” she said again, trying to break his grasp. “Robbie isn’t like Andrew’s other opponents have been. He’s not able to hold his own in a fight.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“So you want to rescue the man who loves you,” he said bitterly.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“No,” she burst out. “I’ve no romantic notions for Robbie. I just don’t want to see him dead, that’s all.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Because then Townson would go to prison or be exiled. Is that it?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her tightly.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Yes,” she said sharply, trying to free his fingers from the hold they had on her. “I care far more for Andrew than I do for Robbie. I have to stop their fight. Please.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">His hands loosened a fraction, but stayed in position. “I don’t hear either of them anymore,” he said after a minute.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">She heard them though. She could pick out Robbie’s pathetic whimpers anywhere. They were distant, but she could hear them all the same. “I think he’s loading him into a carriage,” Madison said inanely.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Yes,” the man agreed. “Mine.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Yours?” she questioned. “Why?”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">He didn’t answer her. Instead, he released his hold and from somewhere Madison couldn’t place, the mysterious gentleman lit a short candle and reached around her to hand it to her. “I promised Townson to keep you out of the way,” he explained. “You may go wherever it was you were headed. Just don’t follow me.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Why?” she asked, attempting to turn around to face him.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“No,” he said, grabbing her waist again and keeping her from turning to face him.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Who are you?” she asked, truly curious. She’d just spend the last five or ten minutes in the dark with this man and she had no idea who he was. She’d somewhat recognized his voice, but she couldn’t place it. Not that that meant much. She’d met so many men since she’d come to England it was nearly impossible to keep them all straight when she could see their faces. Their voices were even more difficult for her to place. As odd as it was, she thought a lot of them sounded alike with their English accents and it was hard to tell them apart, especially in the dark.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Don’t worry about that,” he countered. “Just go.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">She didn’t budge. Curiosity may have been rumored to have killed the cat, but she was no weak declawed cat anymore, she wanted to know who this man who had been holding her in the dark was. “No,” she said defiantly. “I’m not leaving until I know your identity.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Who do you think I am?” he asked. His voice so close she could feel his breath fan her ear and blow her hair, making her shiver.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’m not good with voices. But I know for certain you’re not Lord Wray, Lord Drury, or Mr. Chapman. I’d know those three voices anywhere with how much I have to hear them wax and spout ridiculous poetry about my blue eyes looking like endless skies,” she said, sounding annoyed. “I know you’ve spoken to me before though. I just don’t know where.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“You don’t need to remember where,” he said dismissively. “You just need to go. Now.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Not until I have your name,” she said sternly. She looked down at the candle stub she was holding. It hadn’t been very large to start with and now it looked no larger than an acorn. She really needed to get walking if she wanted to have enough light to see to get to a lighted hall. “Please tell me. My candle is about to burn out. I need to start walking, but I won’t leave until I have your name.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“That’s unwise,” he stated. “You need to go before someone finds us. Townson or your sister will be looking for you soon and it would be best they don’t find us like this.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison fought the urge to snort. “You clearly don’t know my sister,” she said dryly. If Brooke found them alone in the dark, she’d turn her eyes and pretend it never happened. Well, if Madison asked her to, that is. First, Brooke would probably try and talk her into letting the rumor slip if the match was to Madison’s advantage.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“I know her husband well enough,” the man countered. “He wouldn’t be happy about this.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“He’d handle it however Brooke told him,” Madison countered. Andrew wasn’t one for gossip in the first place and he loved his wife and her family well enough that she was certain he wouldn’t call this man out or start rumors about them, especially if he was the one who asked him to keep her out of his fight with Robbie.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“That’s because she leads him around by his prick,” the man said disdainfully.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">If the statement had been made about anyone else she would have died from laughter on the spot. But she knew better than anyone that Andrew truly loved his wife and Brooke undoubtedly returned his love in equal measures. “That was a nasty thing to say,” she said sharply. “I demand you apologize.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">He grumbled something she couldn’t understand then mumbled, “Sorry, I forgot for a second I was in the presence of a lady. I’ll choose my words more carefully in the future.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she shot back hotly. “Apologize for your unflattering remark about my sister and her husband.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">He scoffed. “Fine. I apologize. From now on I’ll say, ‘Of course he will, he’s the most besotted man in England.’ Does that meet your approval?”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“You’re rather rude, did you know?” she asked sarcastically. Of course he knew he was rude. He probably prided himself on it.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Thank you,” he said genuinely. “Believe it or not you just complimented me.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“It wasn’t meant as such,” she retorted. “Now tell me who you are so I can go before my candle burns out. The flame is already burning the tips of my fingers because it’s so close to where I’m holding it on the bottom.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Then you better start walking,” he said, giving her a gentle shove forward.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Thinking she was going to outsmart him, she quickly whipped back around to get a peek at his identity. But in her haste, she made an error in judgment. She forgot to block the candle flame when she spun, and the quick spinning motion put out the flame right before she was able to get a glimpse of him.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Good work,” he said sarcastically.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">She ground her teeth. This man was absolutely intolerable. Why on earth had Andrew asked him to keep her occupied while he took care of Robbie?<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Either he must be a mind reader or she’d spoken her thoughts aloud because the infuriating man said, “Because I was—”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The rest of his words were abruptly cut off when the door behind him suddenly swung open and revealed a very displeased Andrew. “What are you doing,” he hissed at her guest.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Exactly what you told me to. I kept her away from him,” the mystery man said calmly. His back was to the gardens and the only light streaming into the room was behind him, making it possible for her to see his form, but not his face.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Andrew being directly underneath a lamp was fully visible and Madison was sure she’d never seen him so mad. “Well, you’ve done your job. Now let her go. Madison, come with me, I’ll take you to Brooke and she can see you to your room, if you’d like.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison went to sidestep her mysterious man, discreetly trying to glance up to see who she’d been with. Almost out of the doorway, she froze when another voice, one that she and every member of the Banks family knew well, entered the scene. “Well, what do we have here?” Lady Algen said waspishly.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison noticed she wasn’t the only one who stiffened at the comment. Lady Algen, who was London’s—no, England’s—no, the continent’s—most vicious gossip hungry harpy, stood with her hands on her hips, grinning like a jackal. This did <i>not</i> look good. Turning her eyes from Andrew to the back of the man she hadn’t been able to glimpse on her way out the door, she knew trouble was about to ensue and all three of them were powerless to stop it.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“What irony,” Lady Algen declared, licking her lips. “I was present at the ruination of your sister with his man,” she gestured to Andrew, “I believe I also brought to light your other sister’s scandalous ways.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I just had no idea it would come to this. Miss Banks, I honestly thought you were better than that.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“That’s enough,” Andrew said sternly, making both Madison and Lady Algen freeze in terror. “Nothing is going on here. Go back and enjoy the ball while I return Madison to her sister.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Lady Algen snorted. “I don’t think so. I shall escort her to her sister. Your wife will be in need of a shoulder to cry on when she finds out her husband has been trysting with her sister in the corners of her own gardens, during a ball <i>she’s</i> hosting no less.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison gasped. Lady Algen thought she and Andrew were trysting? Did that mean she hadn’t seen the man in the doorway? She peeked over to the open door and he was no longer standing by the door. The hall was so dark she couldn’t see if he was even in there or not. Blast the man.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“My wife will not require a shoulder to cry on,” Andrew said smoothly. “There is nothing going on between Madison and myself that my wife is not aware of.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“So she approves of your activities, then?” the old harpy asked with a disdainful tone.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“There are no ‘activities’, real or imagined, between us,” Andrew said defensively.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“So are you denying that the two of you were trysting in the dark?” she asked doubtfully.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Come along, Madison,” Andrew said, ignoring Lady Algen and offering his arm to Madison.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Wearily, she took his arm and took a step when Brooke came running up. “Thank goodness,” she said excitedly as she ran to embrace Madison. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine now.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Is that so?” Lady Algen asked archly. “Are you aware your husband and sister have been keeping each other company tonight?”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“No, they haven’t,” Brooke said fiercely, putting her hands on her hips. “My husband was disposing of some rubbish, so to speak and Madison was with—”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Me,” growled an angry voice that belonged to the unidentified man coming out of the doorway, grabbing Madison’s attention and making her gasp. “Townson asked Madison and me to wait over here until he came and got us to formally announce our engagement.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> “Your engagement?” Lady Algen gasped, eyes darting back and forth between the four of them.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Yes, our engagement,” he confirmed. “Now, we shall all go back into the ballroom and allow Townson to make the announcement. Come, sweet,” he finished, offering his arm to Madison.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison stood numb. Closing her eyes, she silently prayed the ground would suddenly open and swallow her whole while an angel came down from heaven and wiped clean the memory of anyone that knew her. This was bad. This was beyond bad. This was catastrophic proportions bad. This was attempt to swim across the ocean back home to New York bad.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Catching sight of Lady Algen’s skeptical stare, she swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat and linked arms to the man she was about to become formally betrothed to. If she had been anyone else watching the scene, or even if it had been anyone else she had just become engaged to, she would have laughed at the twin looks of horror both Andrew and Brooke sported.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Well, I never,” Lady Algen said, shaking her head. “I didn’t believe she’d go through with it.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison’s escort stopped and turned to face Lady Algen. “Madam, you’d be wise to hold your tongue,” he counseled in a low, sharp tone. “The only thing you witnessed here tonight was the formal engagement announcement. Nothing else. If I hear even a hint of a rumor circulating suggesting anything else, you and anyone associated with you, will be finding out just how exciting the wilds of Australia really are.” He paused for a minute to let her brain work out his words. “Don’t think I don’t know of your involvement in the incident that took place at my house more than six years ago.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Lady Algen took in a sharp intake of air and ran off as if she were being chased by a lion.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Turning back to face Madison, her nearly betrothed sent her a devious smile. “You just had to see my face, didn’t you,” he drawled tauntingly. “And now, you’ll get to see it every day for the rest of your life.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Madison and Brooke gasped in unison at his cruel remark. Andrew, however, was not one to stand idle and watch while someone was taunted. Instead, he grabbed the man’s arm, spun him around and delivered a swift, hard punch to the other man’s midsection, making him gasp at the sudden loss of air, but showing no other signs of distress.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“Take that as a warning,” Andrew said evenly. “Come, ladies, let’s go announce this confounded engagement before Lady Algen does.”<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">That was it. That was how Madison now found herself, four weeks, two over-chaperoned carriage rides, and six obligatory waltzes later, looking into the cold blue eyes of her bridegroom.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And all she could think was in a way he was right, if she hadn’t been so blasted interested in discovering his identity, she wouldn’t be here making vows to look at his unyielding, handsome face for the rest of her life.<o:p></o:p></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-top: 6pt; text-indent: 0.3in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Curiosity may not have killed the cat, but it sure didn’t do her any favors.<o:p></o:p></div><div><br />
</div></div></span></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"></div></div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-75398971406436505462011-05-18T06:46:00.004-04:002011-05-25T20:59:55.949-04:00Featured Author for May 18<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Welcome to the Cozy Corner Reading Room!</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;">For more great books, visit The Book Shelf tab above</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;"><br />
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</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">This week's Featured Author:</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-size: large;">Kenneth C Ryeland</span></span></span></b></span></strong></span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">Read an author interview on the Chair to Chair page >>>></span> </span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z3aT7rDMLJs/TdOZLuSqqiI/AAAAAAAAAGg/VhBUxkdIASo/s1600/kr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z3aT7rDMLJs/TdOZLuSqqiI/AAAAAAAAAGg/VhBUxkdIASo/s320/kr.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/419g7yG4rEL._SL110_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/419g7yG4rEL._SL110_.jpg" width="132" /></a><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/411y706O6ML._SL110_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/411y706O6ML._SL110_.jpg" width="132" /></a><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/515k4wzzwDL._SL110_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/515k4wzzwDL._SL110_.jpg" width="132" /></a></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">Links to his books:</span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
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<div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0043RSEHC/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=2506&creative=9310&creativeASIN=B0043RSEHC%22%3EThe%20Up-Country%20Man%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B0043RSEHC"><span style="color: #006599;">The Up-Country Man</span></a> $4.49 Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1448989140/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=2506&creative=9310&creativeASIN=1448989140%22%3EThe%20Up-country%20Man%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=1448989140"><span style="color: #006599;">Amazon Paperback</span></a></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0043RSEHC/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&link_code=as3&camp=2506&creative=9298&creativeASIN=B0043RSEHC%22%3EThe%20Up-Country%20Man%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B0043RSEHC" jquery1303838830124="7"><span style="color: #006599;">Kindle UK</span></a> or <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1413796524/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&link_code=as3&camp=2506&creative=9298&creativeASIN=1413796524%22%3EThe%20Up-Country%20Man%20-%20A%20personal%20account%20of%20the%20first%20one%20hundred%20days%20inside%20secessionist%20Biafra%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=1413796524" jquery1303838830124="8"><span style="color: #006599;">Amazon UK Paperback</span></a> or <span style="color: #006599;"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/23696?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a></span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0045EONOQ/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=2506&creative=9310&creativeASIN=B0045EONOQ%22%3ETribal%20Gathering%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B0045EONOQ"><span style="color: #006599;">Tribal Gathering</span></a> $2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0755210786/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=2506&creative=9310&creativeASIN=0755210786%22%3ETribal%20Gathering%20-%20Eight%20stories%20set%20in%201960's%20post-colonial%20West%20Africa%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0755210786"><span style="color: #006599;">Amazon Paperback</span></a></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0045EONOQ/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&link_code=as3&camp=2506&creative=9298&creativeASIN=B0045EONOQ%22%3ETribal%20Gathering%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B0045EONOQ" jquery1303838830124="5"><span style="color: #006599;">Kindle UK</span></a> or <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0755210786/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&link_code=as3&camp=2506&creative=9298&creativeASIN=0755210786%22%3ETribal%20Gathering%20-%20Eight%20Stories%20Set%20in%201960's%20Post-colonial%20West%20Africa%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=0755210786" jquery1303838830124="6"><span style="color: #006599;">Amazon UK Paperback</span></a> or <span style="color: #006599;"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/24442?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00466HZ0W/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=2506&creative=9310&creativeASIN=B00466HZ0W%22%3EThe%20Last%20Bature%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B00466HZ0W"><span style="color: #006599;">The Last Bature</span></a> $2.99 Kindle Edition <span style="color: #006599;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0755211022/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=2506&creative=9310&creativeASIN=0755211022%22%3EThe%20Last%20Bature%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0755211022">Amazon Paperback</a></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #006599;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0755211022/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=2506&creative=9310&creativeASIN=0755211022%22%3EThe%20Last%20Bature%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0755211022"></a></span><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00466HZ0W/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&link_code=as3&camp=2506&creative=9298&creativeASIN=B00466HZ0W%22%3EThe%20Last%20Bature%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B00466HZ0W" jquery1303838830124="3"><span style="color: #006599;">Kindle UK</span></a> or <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0755211022/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&link_code=as3&camp=2506&creative=9298&creativeASIN=0755211022%22%3EThe%20Last%20Bature%20-%20A%20policeman's%20tale%20set%20in%201960s%20post-colonial%20West%20Africa%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=0755211022" jquery1303838830124="4"><span style="color: #006599;">Amazon UK Paperback</span></a> or <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/25382?ref=Breezee1"><span style="color: #006599;">Smashwords</span></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
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</span></div><div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 16pt;">Excerpts from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tribal Gathering</i>, by K C Ryeland.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Eight stories set in 1960s post-colonial West Africa.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 27pt;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Story # 1. Hot Metal<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">....After walking through thick forest undergrowth for twenty minutes or so, the two men found themselves in yet another clearing situated at the foot of a small, rocky escarpment some fifty or sixty feet high and about two hundred feet long. To one side of the sheer cliff-face was a wide, dark fissure in the rock. The boy stopped close to the gaping crack and turned to face Peter and John as they struggled to free themselves from the vines and undergrowth that clung to their feet and legs with the tenacity of leeches. Both men looked at each other as the boy spoke with the strange, grown-up voice again, asking which of them was “Mr Staffo.” <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Peter, amazed at what he thought was his name being used, said, “Do you mean Stafford?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> The boy nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> “How did you know my name? Who the hell are you anyway?” said Peter, irritably. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> The boy said nothing. He simply motioned with his right hand for Peter to follow him. John made to follow too, but the boy told him he must stay. Peter found the boy’s influence almost overpowering. Something inside him wanted to obey the boy’s every word. Turning to John, Peter said in a low voice, “You stay here, just in case. I’ll call you if I need help.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Reluctantly, John agreed, giving Peter the thumbs-up sign as he watched his friend follow the boy towards the gap in the rock-face. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> One minute the boy was directly in front of Peter, the next he’d disappeared from sight. Only when very close to the huge fissure did Peter realise he must follow the boy through into the very heart of the rock. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> The huge, triangular-shaped crack was about four feet wide at the base and ten feet high at the apex, although it soon reduced to little more than three feet wide and five feet high some nine or ten yards inside the rock. It proved to be something of a tight squeeze for Peter with his large frame, but he managed to stay close behind the boy despite the heavy going and the almost total darkness. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> The internal surfaces on both sides of the fissure were dripping wet and covered in what Peter imagined to be mud and slime, for he could see nothing. As he moved slowly forward, Peter felt his shirt and shorts becoming wet and sticky, especially when forcing himself through some of the narrowest places. At one point the gap became so confined, Peter began to panic thinking he would become permanently stuck inside the dark, living rock. However, gentle encouragement from the boy, a yard or so in front, soon dispelled Peter’s fear and spurred him on. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Several minutes and many yards later, Peter and the boy saw daylight ahead and this encouraged them to move more quickly. They soon emerged from the gloomy, dank interior of the cliff into a strange, crater-like clearing completely encircled by high, rocky cliffs. When Peter’s eyes became accustomed to the light, he opened them wide and his jaw dropped at the scene before him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Story # 2. Juju</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">-<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Men<o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">....“Well, well. I know some of the ignorant people out in the bush are afraid of the white man’s so-called juju, but I did not think people in the township were taken in by all that nonsense. It just goes to show the world is full of surprises. I have been the tyler, that is our name for the outer guard of the Lodge, here for the last twenty years and I can tell you nothing but good has come from this place. It gives me great pride to see our people making headway in the white man’s world. I just do not understand all these bushmen (ignorant people) who complain about the white man’s magic. After all, we Nibanans are the absolute past masters at that sort of thing.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Before Musa or the boy could make any comment, they heard a scuffling sound coming from the narrow corridor. Without hesitation they moved towards the noise with the tyler close on their heels. Moments later, Bande, still gripping his hostage around the neck, confronted them halfway along the corridor. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> When Musa saw the knife at Ajayi’s throat, stark, terrifying memories came to the fore and a strange feeling of anger and fear began to build up inside the old soldier. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">The tyler reacted to the situation by shouting and pushing his way between Musa and the boy so he could get closer to the problem. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Hey, what is going on here?” shouted the tyler. “You,” he pointed at Bande, “put that knife down immediately and let go of our cook.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Bande screamed at everyone to get back or he would kill the cook. The tyler, realising the seriousness of Bande’s threat, immediately moved back pushing Musa and the boy along with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Musa moved mechanically, his mind conjuring up scenes of desperation and horror, but with little clarity. He closed his eyes and the pictures in his head slowly became clear. Musa could see the muzzle and grenade flashes punctuating a pitch-black night, the split seconds of light illuminating a jungle scene in torrential rain. He could hear the explosions and the gunfire, the screaming, the yelling and the constant braying of terrified pack mules. He could feel the cloying mud underfoot and the needle-sharp rain on his body. Suddenly an oriental face loomed before him, its features contorted with hate and pain, then another and another. One by one the images raced through Musa’s head until he fell exhausted against the wall, his eyes still closed and the sweat running down his face in torrents....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Story # 4. The Visit.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">....Arthur’s dilemma ended when a man, wearing green silk robes of the finest quality, suddenly appeared to his left. He addressed Arthur quietly in Pidgin English, telling him to remove his shoes and bow low before walking towards the emir. The man went on to explain that Arthur would be permitted to sit on the simple wooden stool that had been placed about ten feet away from the base of the raised dais. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> After bowing low and taking a last glance at his shoes, which had been neatly placed on the floor near the doors by a servant, Arthur walked forward at a slow pace. At the command of the green-robed figure at his side, Arthur sat on the stool. Suddenly the emir began to address Arthur in the Usmar language and almost immediately the green-robed man began to translate. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> After about five minutes of welcoming speech from the emir, it was Arthur’s turn to speak. When he’d finished carefully explaining his reasons for requiring an audience with one of the most powerful men in northern Nibana, Arthur waited patiently whilst the green-robed interpreter relayed the message. For a fleeting moment, Arthur detected what he thought was a smile from the emir. He couldn’t be sure because only the man’s eyes were visible. Nonetheless, Arthur felt certain that between the heavy veil drawn across the lower portion of the emir’s face and the bright green turban covering his head, the dark eyes had twinkled merrily in response to the interpreter’s words. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> The reply confirmed it. The emir, according to the interpreter, had expressed great pleasure at Arthur’s visit and looked forward to meeting his old friend Hyde-Beecroft again after so many years. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Somewhat relieved that the interview had gone so well, Arthur thanked the emir and made to depart. However, before he could move, the interpreter said the emir wished Arthur to remain for a while longer and partake of refreshments. Arthur’s heart sank. He had wanted to get out of the throne room as quickly as possible because his English suit and the dreadful smell from the torches and the smouldering sticks of incense were making him feel so uncomfortably hot and nauseous. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> As suddenly as he’d appeared, the green-robed interpreter disappeared through a door to the left of the emir’s dais. Then, much to Arthur’s surprise, the two heavy-duty guards also departed through the same exit. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Somewhat bemused, Arthur found himself alone with the emir, wondering how he would communicate. Arthur’s command of the Usmar language was basic, to say the least. No more than ‘kitchen Usmar’, fit only for stewards and smallboys not the most respected Usmar leader in the whole of the Northern Region. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText2" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The emir beckoned Arthur to approach the dais and began unwinding the huge length of cloth that formed the veil around his face and neck. The turban was the next article to be discarded and, as the emir stood up, he addressed Arthur in perfect English. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> “Mr Meadows, I do hope you will partake of a cooling drink in my private quarters. I meet so few Europeans these days. Please collect your shoes, put them on and follow me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Forgetting momentarily that the emir had attended university in England, Arthur hadn’t expected to hear such impeccable English from a man who looked as though he’d just time-travelled from twelfth-century Arabia. It took Arthur several seconds to realise he was staring at the emir with his mouth partially open. Closing his lips tightly, Arthur quickly retrieved his shoes and followed the now bareheaded figure through a door on the right of the dais. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> The emir led the way through a number of dark passages for what seemed like an age. Finally they emerged into a beautiful garden with fountains, green lawns and wonderful flowering shrubs that must have taken an army of gardeners and many thousands of gallons of water to keep in such excellent condition. In the centre of the garden was a bungalow, not dissimilar to the one Arthur and his family occupied. Typically colonial in style it had large verandas on all four sides and large, glass-panelled double doors leading into the living, sleeping and dining areas....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Story # 5. Boom Town.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText2" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">....Later that morning, Charlie packed a canvas rucksack with clothes, spare bush boots and other personal items. He then visited Scroggins’ office at the site, which, due to its considerable distance from the branch, had escaped destruction. Some forty minutes later, Charlie drove to the bank in Sapula. After completing all his business there he clambered back into the company Land-Rover, drove a few miles out of town, engaged its four-wheel drive and took to the bush. As he negotiated the scrub and undergrowth, Charlie thanked all the deities he could think of for the vehicle having been saved from the inferno when the chief clerk used it to look for the parachutist.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> When the main Sapula Creek came into view, Charlie carefully followed its meandering course until he came to a suitable spot, well away from any form of habitation. Having parked the vehicle he changed into the clothes he’d packed earlier that morning and left what he’d been wearing in a neat pile on the driver’s seat. He then locked the vehicle, deposited the keys into the tailpipe out of sight, and walked away through the bush. On reaching the main road some ninety minutes later, Charlie hitched a lift to Port Hassan in one of the many oilfield trucks that plied the roads day and night.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Before leaving the hotel that morning, Charlie had paid his bill and deposited a sealed envelope with the receptionist, telling the man to give it to the branch chief clerk when he called at the hotel. The hotel staff knew the chief clerk well, and Charlie had ensured he would visit the hotel the following day by arranging a meeting with him, ostensibly to discuss an insurance claim. Charlie knew no insurer would pay for an act of war, mentioning it was simply a smokescreen. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> The envelope, marked ‘Strictly Confidential’, contained a letter to the chief clerk.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 28.35pt; margin-right: 26.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Dear Mr Atayi,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoBlockText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Please ensure the company Land-Rover is collected from the main creek, five miles east of Sapula. The ignition keys are hidden in the exhaust tailpipe. Please do not try to find me; by the time you read this I will have gone to a better place. The loss of my good friend Bruce McKinnon and the destruction of the branch, which I built up from almost nothing, are just too much for me to bear. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 28.35pt; margin-right: 26.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> I gave the UK bank draft we talked about, which was due to be paid into the Chief Edenyi Estates’ account at the bank in Sapula, directly to Mr Scroggins at his office on the morning following the accident. Thank goodness I was able to save it from the inferno. The company’s total debt to the Chief for the land and building work is, therefore, cleared. The receipt I received from Mr Scroggins for the total amount is lodged with the bank manager. Our insurers will reimburse the company when you make the claim. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 28.35pt; margin-right: 26.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> I have also arranged with the bank manager for you to sign on behalf of the company from now on. There is sufficient money in the company’s account to pay you and all the men’s wages for one more month, after which time you will all have to find other work. The oilfields are booming and, with the general shortage of manpower, none of you should have any trouble finding new work. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 28.35pt; margin-right: 26.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> The balance of the company’s money has been transferred to a special account that only the directors in Laguna and the UK can access. The bank manager said they might have to wait until the end of the civil war before they can transfer the money to the UK. As you know Obiland has yet to organise its foreign exchange arrangements. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 28.35pt; margin-right: 26.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> I have tried my best to balance the company books, but as you know most of the information was destroyed along with the branch. However, with the rough notes I kept in my room at the hotel, I have been able to establish that I owe the company about nine hundred Nibanan pounds. The attached balance sheet should show how I arrived at this figure and all the other figures.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoBlockText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB"> All my personal belongings are deposited with the hotel and I have instructed the manager to hand them over to you so you can sell them to offset the debt, but the company will have to forgo most of it I’m afraid. I have no more to give and, by the time you read this letter, I will not even have my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 28.35pt; margin-right: 26.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"> Mr Atayi, please say goodbye to all the men and thank them for me, and I thank you personally for all your help and support through the tough times.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 28.35pt; margin-right: 26.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 28.35pt; margin-right: 26.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Yours sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 28.35pt; margin-right: 26.2pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Charles A Robinson. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Branch Manager, Warunda.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Story # 7. Tief-Man</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">....Idewu waited nervously near the old European cemetery. The lateness of the hour and the darkness played tricks on his mind and he began to imagine all those dead Europeans rising from their graves and chasing him. He nearly had heart failure when the unsavoury character from the marketplace grabbed his shoulder from behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">The two men had walked but a short distance along the Enube Bridge Road when an old Datsun taxi stopped and picked them up. In addition to the driver one other man sat in the vehicle, but Idewu wasn’t introduced to either one and so the journey continued in silence. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">They hadn’t travelled more than a mile when the driver pulled on to the forecourt of a large out-of-town hardware store. The store’s night watch approached, exchanged some words with the driver of the taxi and then disappeared into the darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“OK, this is it, everyone out,” said the unsavoury character.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“A hardware store? What is there of value here?” said Idewu.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“There is a safe inside with the day’s takings. It could amount to over two hundred pounds,” said the driver. “So shut up and do as you are told!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Idewu’s part in the burglary required him to keep watch at the front of the building and warn the others if any traffic or pedestrians came along the road. The other three men disappeared around the back to where they intended get into the offices by means of a rear door that the night watch had arranged with one of the staff to be left unbolted. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">All commercial premises and most private houses in Nibana had anti-theft bars fitted to window openings. Very often wooden doors would be reinforced with steel plates to prevent them from being smashed open. Therefore, to successfully carry out a burglary, it required an insider who would ‘inadvertently’ leave a door unlocked or some other means of entry for the thieves. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">No one came along the road to disturb the thieves and within forty-five minutes they had finished. The night watch returned to collect his cut and that of the staff member who’d left the door unlocked. Moments later, Idewu and the thieves departed in the taxi.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“What about the night watch? He will be sacked the moment they realise the place has been robbed,” said Idewu from the back seat of the taxi.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“He will say he was praying,” retorted the driver. “The white manager will know the night watch could not have left the door unlocked because he has no access to the building. The manager will soon work out it must have been an inside job. It will take weeks to sort it out. You know how well we Nibanans can string white men along. In the end the manager will get fed up and employ additional night watches. Anyway, the old boy we saw tonight is due for retirement soon, so he will not be worried.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, I see,” said Idewu, rather feebly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">They dropped Idewu and the unsavoury character off at the cemetery and the Datsun headed into town. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBlockText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-style: normal;">Idewu’s companion gave him twenty pounds and said if he wished, Idewu could accompany them on more robberies. Idewu said he would think about it and meet his companion in the market at the usual place the following afternoon to discuss his further involvement....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBlockText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoBlockText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 27pt;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-style: normal;"></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 16pt;">Excerpts from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Up-Country Man</i>, by K C Ryeland.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB">A personal account of the first one hundred days inside secessionist Biafra<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter IV: A Testing Time<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">....The following day, as Fred and I walked through the main gate, we were greeted by Sergeant Musa who gave us the usual smart salute and told us, in his very formal way, that the GSM wished to see us right away. He then did a very strange thing. He turned to me and said that he was sorry that Nigeria was going through a bad patch now, but that he was sure it would all be sorted out very soon. My reply reflected his feelings on the subject, but stressed that he could in no way be held responsible for all the palaver in Nigeria. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “But I am to blame in a way, sir,” retorted Sergeant Musa. “Had I stayed in the army and tried to knock some sense into these young officers, then perhaps the problems would not have existed. When we had British officers, there was none of this tribalism. It is destroying our country, sir. The only hope we have is for Her Majesty to intervene and stop Ojukwu in his bid for secession.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> I could think of no appropriate reply except to nod slowly, make my excuses and walk away in the direction of the GSM’s office. As we walked, Fred grabbed my arm and said urgently, “Why was old Musa talking to you like that. Apologising for all the palaver and all that stuff about the Queen?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “I don’t know, Fred. Perhaps he knows something we don’t.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Edward met us at the door to his office and invited us in. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “How are you both this morning? Fit? Well? Good, the coffee is on its way. Nothing like coffee to chase the cobwebs away in the mornings is there?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> We both knew that Edward was feeling tense. He always talked too much when he had something difficult or unpleasant to say. We sat down and wondered what was coming next. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> When his secretary had served the coffee and departed, Fred immediately got up and stood in front of Edward’s desk. All I could do was take a deep breath and pray for him to keep quiet. He did not keep quiet of course; instead he began to rant at Edward.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Now listen to me, Edward. I am not going to the east for you, the general manager or anybody. So you had better cancel me out of any plans you may have in that direction.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Fred began pouring out all the old arguments, but it was clear from the expression on Edward’s face that he was livid at such an outburst. At an appropriate moment Edward stood up and shouted, “Sit down, Fred, for God’s sake. Nobody has asked you to go anywhere have they? Instead of bawling and shouting at me why don’t you wait your turn and let me do the talking around here?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> My mouth remained closed. However, it did cross my mind that Fred had been a little premature in his outburst. He should have waited for Edward to say his piece before jumping in at the deep end. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Edward eyed us both angrily for a moment and then he began to speak. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “I was going to spend some time explaining the reasons for the decision I have reached, but there’s no point now. So here it is, no frills. Fred, you’re staying put, which will please you no end I am sure. Ken, you’re going to Enugu to relieve Charlie McKay.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Even though the decision had been half expected, it did not prevent me from being taken aback somewhat. As the information began to sink in, my hands started to sweat and I decided to protest.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Bloody hell, Edward. What about all this talk of rebellion and white men on chopping lists and Biafra and everything?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Edward managed a smile and then said, “Oh, come off it, Ken. You don’t really think they know you from Adam, do you? How can you be on anyone’s death list? You’ve only been in the country for five minutes, and anyway all that nonsense was last year after the second coup.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Since there was no answer forthcoming from me, he continued talking. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Charlie McKay has been there for ages and he has his family with him. So there’s nothing to worry a young chap like you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> A sudden thought entered my head and I voiced it immediately. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Just a minute, Edward. The whole point is, this McKay bloke is coming out and I am going in. Just as all the bloody trouble is about to start.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Edward tut-tutted and said, “You’ve been listening to all those old buggers at the club again. I do not think it will come to a fight, and even if it does, it will be over in five minutes. They don’t have the nerve for it, the Ibo, especially against the northerners, and you can bet your bush boots that these Yorubas will keep right out of any fighting if it comes to it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> I thought about what had been said for a moment and concluded that Edward was probably right. Everyone who had expressed an opinion to me was convinced that the Yorubas would back away from anything that hinted at physical violence. The biggest problem, according to the pundits, was the Hausas. They would fight the Ibos given half a chance, and they were good at it too. They had a long tradition of soldiering with the British when Nigeria was a colony. I thought about Sergeant Musa and concluded that he would certainly give the Ibos a bashing, despite his age. The sound of Edward’s voice calling my name interfered with my train of thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Ken. Ken, are you with us? You should be ready to leave on Sunday. You had better see the carpenter right away and ask him to make you a load box; he knows the form. The box will be quit valuable. He makes them from best mahogany you know. Of course, it is as cheap here as pine is at home. Do not forget to dash him. Ten shillings will do.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> My further protestations at having to leave so soon were met with a steely gaze and an explanation that McKay was now well overdue for leave and had been making quite a fuss about his replacement. Resigned to my fate, I said, “Presumably someone will give me a lift to the airport on Sunday, and whom do I see about the air ticket, Edward?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> He eyed me carefully over his glasses and said slowly, “Only general managers and up-country personnel travel by air. There’s a brand new, UK built series IIA 88-inch wheelbase Land-Rover station wagon due for delivery to Enugu, and I have delayed its departure for you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Whaaaat? I am up-country personnel; you have just confirmed it, Edward. Why can’t I go by air?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “You are headquarters personnel at the moment,” said Edward calmly. “You won’t be up-country personnel until you actually get to Enugu. Do not worry; you will have one of our own drivers to take you there. You won’t have to rely on a casual driver.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Highly irritated at being caught in a “Catch 22” situation, I tried not to it let show through.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “How bloody far is this Enugu place from here then, Edward?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Edward tried not to notice my belligerence and replied very calmly, “Oh, about 350 miles. It depends on how much of a detour you have to make because of bad roads.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Bloody hell, Edward, 350 miles in a bloody 88-inch station wagon. I won’t be able to sit down for a week, particularly if the roads are bad.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “You are lucky my lad,” he retorted. “The rains have only just started. Another week or so and the roads will be completely washed away in certain areas.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> My irritation ensured a continuous stream of questions and belligerent discussion until I could think of nothing further to say about my transfer to Enugu. Fred had remained silent throughout my exchange with Edward. No doubt he was feeling somewhat guilty over the whole business....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter XII: Cowardly Action<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">....The Abakaliki Road had a tarmac surface for most of its length from Enugu to Abakaliki and beyond. However, this did not signify that it was in any way remotely similar to a conventional tarmac road. The surface, a single, thick layer of tar overlaid with gravel, would have been applied directly to the graded laterite surface many years ago and simply patched every now and again. However, it would only be repaired if the Ministry of Works were able to coax enough money out of the Ministry of Finance. Inevitably, the years had taken their toll and the road now consisted of a series of potholes joined by short stretches of tar. In certain areas, particularly on bends and gradients where the road was susceptible to erosion by rainwater, bare patches and corrugated sections abounded. Some of the potholes and bumps were big enough to jolt a vehicle so hard that any occupants were in danger of being propelled off their seats with the same acceleration as a Saturn V rocket going into orbit. On this road forty miles an hour was fast, very fast indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> On one or two occasions during the journey out from Enugu, Joe had misjudged the depth of a pothole or the frequency of a series of corrugations and had sent me flying off my seat. However, it soon became second nature for me to jam myself against the backrest whenever we hit a bad patch. Considering the appalling state of the road, Joe had managing very well. He was a good driver and kept us moving at a reasonable speed in spite of everything. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Throughout the return journey, my body was wedged in the “rough road” sitting position. My feet pushed hard against the metal dash and my back forced into the corner of the seat back. It was comfortable enough to permit me to doze off from time to time between the bumps. No doubt, the two bottles of Star beer had contributed significantly to my overall feeling of tiredness, because the next thing I remembered was Joe telling me that we were approaching the Enugu roadblock. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> This roadblock was similar to the many other roadblocks that had materialised in recent times. It was situated some three or four miles from the outskirts of town on a straight stretch of road with good visibility in each direction. At the actual checking point, the road was reduced to a single lane by strategically placed oil barrels and tree branches. Close by, under the shade of a clump of thorn trees, were some large army tents around which a dozen or more soldiers lounged on their groundsheets. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> It was noteworthy that since the army had taken over roadblock duties from the police they tended to employ twice the number of people, and most of them appeared to spend their day eating, drinking or sleeping. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> As a rule, there would be a minimum of six soldiers on duty at any given time: two to check the vehicles from each direction and two to observe and cover the four checkers. Much depended on the volume of traffic, and since the Abakaliki Road was very quiet on that day, they had deployed the minimum number of guards. Naturally, the soldiers on duty were armed, but there was no pattern to the type or calibre of the weapons they carried. I noted that at this roadblock, two of the soldiers were armed with modern automatic rifles, whilst the others sported Lee-Enfield rifles and Webley side arms dating from the Second World War. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> It was clear to any casual observer that the average Biafran soldier was not as well disciplined as his contemporary in the police. Since the army had assumed responsibility for the roadblocks, there had been several reported incidents of innocent motorists being shot dead because of irrational and drunken behaviour on the part of young, inexperienced soldiers. It was with this thought in my mind that we approached the roadblock. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> I was now wide awake and sitting up in my seat looking ahead to where the soldiers were gathered. I was trying to gauge their mood and determine what state they were in, remembering that they had been drinking palm-wine when we passed through the checkpoint earlier in the day. It was difficult to tell what sort of reception we would get because they all looked sober. However, their looks were no guarantee that they were. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Four of the six soldiers on road duty were sitting on the oil drums chatting, whilst the other two were reclining close by on the dusty ground. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> As Joe began to slow our vehicle to a crawl, my eyes scanned the road in each direction. I was looking for other vehicles that may be in the vicinity, but the scene before me confirmed that we were alone. A feeling of apprehension enveloped me and I began to worry. It was far safer to be among a large crowd of vehicles at the road checks for two very good reasons. First, the soldiers were less likely to bother a white man if there were plenty of Africans from whom they could extract dash. Secondly, they tended to get bored very quickly and wave vehicles through if there were perhaps more than three or four waiting for the dubious pleasure of their attentions. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> At the beginning of the emergency when the police were responsible for the roadblocks, they tended to concentrate on checking the vehicle’s documents and the identity papers of the people on board. They would only demand dash if they found fault. To be fair to the police, this was a less prevalent occurrence than was generally held true by popular belief. The army however, tended to concentrate on searching the vehicle, albeit in a most arbitrary way, after which they would apply all their powers of persuasion to extract the maximum amount of dash with aggravated menace. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Throughout my time in Biafra, I cannot recall being asked for any form of identity at roadblocks manned by the military. Clearly, they never doubted that the name, occupation and destination I gave them were anything but true. However, a more likely explanation was the inadequate training given to the majority of the Biafran soldiers who were conscripted immediately before the initial mobilisation. They had probably not been told that there was a government decree requiring all expatriates to carry their passports at all times. However, not that knowing about it would not have made much difference, very few of the young conscript soldiers could actually read. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Our vehicle rolled to a gentle halt close to the roadblock and almost immediately two of the four soldiers who had been sitting on the oil barrels got up and stumbled toward us. I swore under my breath. “Bloody hell, they’re both pissed as newts.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Joe looked across at me and said, “Whatin, sa?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Don’t worry, Joe,” I replied. “Just be careful with these two, they’re drunk. We don’t want any palaver.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> When the soldiers reached the front of our vehicle, they split up: one to my side and one to Joe’s side. With an ever-increasing feeling of trepidation, I watched as the individual on my side of the Land-Rover lurched unsteadily towards me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> He was little more than a teenager really, and he had that gaunt, hungry look that often haunts the post-pubescent young of our species, regardless of race or colour. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Although he was a very slim youth, his uniform was quite clearly several sizes too small, which must have presented a somewhat comical sight to any casual observer. I made an effort not to smile openly at him. However, when I looked at his face any thought of smiling was dismissed when I noted that it was flushed and shining with sweat, thus indicating a surfeit of alcohol. It was easy to spot the blood-gorged tissue around his cheeks and neck, despite his dark complexion. His pupils were large and brown, but the whites of his eyes were extremely bloodshot: a maze of minute, fiery red veins. They looked as though they were bleeding freely. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The red face and neck, the bloodshot eyes, the unsteady walk and the glazed expression confirmed that he was as drunk as a lord. My diagnosis was further reinforced when he tried to ask me where we had come from. The youth was so drunk that he was unable to string two words together successfully. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> A vague awareness of raised voices on the other side of the vehicle alerted me to the possibility of a problem. However, I took little notice, concentrating instead on keeping my soldier sweet and trying to understand what he was saying to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> After the third attempt, he was able to make me understand what he wanted. However, as I began to relate the story of the Coal Corporation truck and how we were returning from mile forty-two, the soldier on the other side of the vehicle wrenched open the cab door, grabbed Joe by the scruff of the neck, and began to pull him out of the vehicle. Being unprepared for this violent action, I did not recover my senses until Joe was sprawling on the ground at the feet of his attacker. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> I shouted and tried to open my door, but the young soldier on my side was pushing against it imprisoning me inside the cab. Shouting again, I put my shoulder to the door. The youth must have realised that he was in no fit state to bar my exit for very long. Rendered useless by alcohol, he suddenly let go and staggered to one side. When the Land-Rover’s door swung open, I almost fell out. I quickly regained my balance and saw that Joe had been dragged to the front of the vehicle and was being systematically kicked by the other soldier. From the wild look and manner of him, it was obvious that this soldier was in the same drunken state as his chum. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> It was difficult to believe the brutality that was taking place before my eyes, and in some desperation I scanned the faces of the other troops sitting around, but none of them were paying the slightest attention to Joe’s predicament. If this palaver was to stop, it was up to me to stop it, because no one else would. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> I made a move towards the kicking soldier, screaming at the top of my voice. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing to my driver, you bastard? Move away from...” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> My words were cut off sharply by an arm that closed tightly around my neck from behind. Quickly and instinctively, my right elbow was thrust rearwards into my attacker’s ribs. The young soldier in the tight uniform was so severely winded and knocked off balance that he immediately let go of my neck and fell heavily to the ground. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The soldiers who were supposed to protect and cover the searchers had been half asleep at the side of the road, but now they were alert and fully aware of what was happening. In no time at all, they were running towards our little group with their automatic rifles at the ready. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> I had already reached Joe and was attempting to pull him up out of the dust, but his attacker, who was still lashing out with his feet, frustrated my efforts. However, he was so drunk that his aim and balance were less than perfect, and it did not take more than a momentary grasp of his boot during mid-kick to have him sprawling on the ground along with his colleague. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> When the other soldiers arrived on the scene some few seconds later, Joe, who had now recovered somewhat from his ordeal, stood at my side and we both raised our hands high in the air. Determined to convince the soldiers that we posed no threat at all, I began to speak to them in the calmest voice I could muster. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Everything is fine, gentlemen,” I assured them, “there is no need for any palaver here. It is just a small misunderstanding. Let us all remain very calm. We don’t want any shooting palaver, do we?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> My words were drowned out by the abuse being hurled at us by our attackers who were now sitting on the ground feigning injury and looking very sorry for themselves. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The incident had also alerted the other pair of vehicle checkers and most of the off-duty soldiers too, because I could see about a dozen of them walking towards us from their camp under the thorn trees some twenty yards away. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Watching the potentially dangerous situation forming in front of my eyes, I swore to myself and wished we were somewhere else....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter XVIII: Deliverance<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">....The roadblock into Aba was very badly situated immediately after a sharp bend in the road. The curve was so tight that when all our vehicles had finally halted, those of us who were at the front could not see the cars at the end of the convoy. I had to alight from my vehicle and cross to the right hand side of the road before it was possible to see the DHC’s car at the head of the convoy. I was soon joined by many of the people from the vehicles in the immediate vicinity of my Land-Rover, most of whom stood silently watching as the DHC negotiated with some incredibly scruffy-looking volunteers at the barrier. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Without warning, several of the CDVs broke away from the general confusion of the main group and headed in our direction. As they approached, I noted with some dismay that they were armed with shotguns, home-made rifles and hunting guns. As they trudged up the slight incline the armed group began to shout and scream at the people who were still sitting in their cars, ordering them to get out and stand at the side of the road with their hands up. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> My words were whispered to myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “ Bloody hell, what are these bastards up to now?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> It was not really necessary to ask myself the question. The answer was obvious as far as I was concerned. They were probably going to rob us of our personal possessions, steal the cars and leave us stranded with no possible way of reaching Port Harcourt. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The CDVs moved from car to car and screamed abuse at those who were slow to react to their orders. As they came closer, it became clear that they had been sleeping rough for some considerable time. Their clothes were dishevelled, they were dirty, and their hair was matted and covered in laterite dust. Most disturbing of all was the glazed look and the excessively bloodshot eyes, a sure sign that they were all drunk, or drugged, or both. As the men continued to stagger towards us shouting and bellowing at everyone in sight, they carried their weapons at the port ready for instant use. I decided not to play games with these people. They would certainly be dangerous if provoked. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Hand up, white man. Hand up. Hand up.” They were screaming at everyone, even those of us who had anticipated their requirements and obliged by raising our hands above our heads. Every twenty yards or so, one of the vigilantes would drop out of the group to guard that particular section of the convoy. By the time they had finished walking the whole line of vehicles, all our people were standing at the side of the road with their hands in the air. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> From where I was standing on the bend in the road, it was possible to see at least four armed vigilantes in front of me and about a dozen of them behind. I could also see that the DHC was deep in conversation with a couple of nasty-looking characters at the roadblock, approximately a hundred yards away. The Rhodesian, who had been two cars behind me and had already joined our little group on the bend, addressed me in a whisper. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “What do you think, Ken? Are these bastards going to shoot us, or what?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The shock of his words made me turn my head quickly and snap, “Don’t be bloody stupid, with the DHC here? They would not bloody dare. Would they?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> David shook his head and gave me one of his funny looks. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “I know these buggers from old, man,” he said. “If they get something into their bloody thick heads they will do it all right, make no mistake. No matter who is around. Man, they will even kill the DHC if they have a mind to.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> How could I have been so stupid? It had not even occurred to me that they would actually shoot us. The gist of my reply to David indicated that there were too many of us for them to handle all at once, and anyway the DHC was with us. They would not dare harm a representative of the British Government. Furthermore, most of us were British and they would not dare to shoot British people. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Further reasons and excuses for not shooting us rushed through my mind. I was desperately trying to convince myself that all would be well. However, my hopes were dashed when David pointed to where the DHC had been negotiating with the CDVs. He too was now standing up against his car with his hands high in the air. Clearly this was the point at which news commentators would have announced that, “Negotiations had broken down.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> One of the scruffy individuals with whom the DHC had been talking, left the roadblock and was now walking towards our little group with a menacing-looking double-barrelled shot-gun tucked neatly under his arm. He growled orders to our guards as he passed by and from their reaction it was clear that he was the undisputed leader of this gang of thugs. He suddenly began to shout at us in very poor English and pointing to the side of the road where our vehicles were parked. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “All dissy British somebody go for dissy side. All British go, go, go. One-time.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> We British glanced at each other and quickly crossed the road to stand against our vehicles as instructed. Quite naturally, David and all the other non-British stayed put, but this did not please the senior vigilante who must have thought that all white men were British. He began to shout abuse as he waved them all towards us with the business end of his shotgun. Moments later he began pushing David with the stock. David resisted for a moment before turning to speak to him. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> “Listen, man, stop pushing. I’m not a Brit, I come from....” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> David stopped in mid-sentence, and much to my relief quickly walked across the road to join us. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> As he stepped into line beside me I said in a whisper, “Bloody good job you bit your tongue, you twerp. If he thought for one moment that you were from Rhodesia, he would have shot you on the spot....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter XXI: Sea Dogs<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">....Clambering down the hatch ladder complete with suitcase and flight bag was not too difficult a task. However, as I slowly descended into the hold my senses began to detect a rapid rise in humidity and temperature. By the time I had reached the steel floor plates at the bottom, some forty or so feet below the deck level, the atmosphere could have been sliced with a knife. Not only was the hold uncomfortably hot, but also quite gloomy, despite the hatch cover being wide open. After a few minutes my eyes became accustomed to the dark and I soon began to search for somewhere suitable to park my bags. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The hold was surprisingly dry and comparatively clean. The steel floor and sides were quite brightly polished and therefore it was not unreasonable to assume that the ship had been used for the carriage of dry cargoes for some considerable time. There was no trace of damp or congealed dirt as might be expected for a general cargo ship. Of course, this was pure speculation on my part. Having never been in the hold of a ship before, all ships’ holds could be as clean and tidy as this one for all I knew. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Having found a bright spot directly beneath the hatch opening, I promptly claimed my two square metres of deck space. Moving about and arranging my things caused me to sweat profusely as the heat and humidity extracted their toll. I shuddered to think how unbearable it would be when, according to my information sheet, the full allocation of 150 adults was packed into the comparatively small hold area. It would not be wise, I thought, to spend too much time in the bowels of the ship if it could possibly be avoided. Undoubtedly, this would be the goal of every evacuee on board and therefore it was not unreasonable to assume that the open decks would be severely overcrowded for the duration of the journey to Lagos. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB"> David Haslam and one or two of my other friends from Enugu had also been allocated to hold number two. After welcoming them to the “black hole” as our accommodation had been so aptly named, we occupied ourselves trying to make the best of our combined space allocation. Having seen to our welfare, we turned our attention to assisting the elderly and less able people to negotiate the hold ladder. We also helped them to find a suitable space and stow their belongings. It was very pleasing to note that everyone had been very sensible about luggage. There were no great sea chests or masses of household goods being loaded. Each person was bringing on board only one, or possibly two, suitcases.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Whilst waiting at the top of the ladder for more people to show themselves, I struck up conversation with a man who, it was later revealed, originally hailed from the Portsmouth area of the UK. My discussions with this ex-sailor brought home to me the full extent of the personal losses that some people had sustained due to the evacuation. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The man had been working in Port Harcourt for over ten years running a small marine engine repair shop for a Lebanese businessman. The terms of his contract had been such that the employer provided a rented house at the going rate and the employee was expected to provide his own household furniture, soft furnishings and fittings. Because of the recent political instability and the beginning of the police action, the company suffered a downturn in business. As a result, the ex-sailor’s contract of employment was eventually terminated and he had to use some of his accumulated capital to finance his day-to-day existence because he was unable to return to the UK. Now, with the evacuation of most expatriates, the poor man had been forced to leave everything he owned. Notwithstanding the precious little time he had been given to sell up, who in their right mind would buy anything of value with the threat of civil war and invasion hanging over the town? Even if he had been able to liquidate his assets, the authorities would have prevented him from taking his money out of Biafra, as we all discovered to our cost in the customs hall. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The man also told me that he had given his car to his steward for safe keeping and had asked the houseboy to look after his two dogs. He must have loved his animals very much since he appeared to be more upset over having to leave the dogs than over the loss of his money and chattels. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> He had smiled ruefully when pointing out that all he had to show for ten years of very hard work were two small suitcases full of clothes, his passport and some loose change in his pocket. It shocked me to the core when he revealed that he had been forced to leave over ten thousand pounds in his bank account with absolutely no idea of how, or when he was going to lay his hands on it again. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> The conversation with this man made me realise just how lucky I was in not having too many personal effects or household furniture to leave behind. Thank goodness it was the Company’s policy to provide its managers with fully furnished houses on a rent-free basis. True, it had been necessary to leave my personal allocation of linen, my radio and a second-hand set of golf clubs, but none of these items were of sufficient value to bankrupt me. My account at the bank in Enugu had been abandoned of course, but since it contained only a few pounds it was no great loss. Talking with the ex-sailor really shocked me and I wondered how many others among us were similarly affected. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> It must have been about three o’clock in the afternoon when the last of the refugees began to board the Isonzo. Those of us who had already embarked had been requested to stay in our allotted places in the holds until the ship was under way. However, it was impossible to comply with this request because of the searing heat of the afternoon sun. Many people, on discovering how hot and stuffy the holds really were, simply dumped their baggage and promptly returned to the upper decks. Because of this mutinous behaviour, the decks were crammed with people enjoying the cooling effects of a slight breeze that had manifested itself during the early afternoon. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> David Haslam and I spent some considerable time leaning on the ship’s rail overlooking the quay, talking and smoking as we watched the last of the refugees struggle on board. Each time we thought we had witnessed the final batch of people, yet another group would file out of the customs hall and make for the gangway. There were a surprisingly large number of European women and children among the last of the stragglers and only after close scrutiny of the children did it dawn on me as to why they were so late arriving at the ship. It was reasonable to conclude that the women were married to Biafrans since every child in their care was of mixed race. This raised several thoughts in my mind and had me wondering what sort of nonsense these women had been subjected to because of their choice of marriage partner. It was a sure bet that the authorities would have gone out of their way to ensure that their processing was made as difficult and unpleasant as possible. Indeed, we learned later that the officials had claimed that the women were trying to kidnap the Biafran children. This sort of treatment and the inevitable delay while suitable “arrangements” were agreed would certainly have accounted for them being the last to board the ship. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> My discussions with David included a consideration of how much dash had been necessary to allow the children to accompany their mothers, and we concluded that the price would have been very high indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> As it was for everyone, the Isonzo was the only way out of Biafra for these unfortunate women and children. Had the authorities not permitted them to board they would have been stranded. Locked inside what was to become a besieged and doomed Ibo enclave until its collapse and surrender some thirty months after our departure.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Before the women and children were permitted to embark we noticed that several African men had been escorted from a nearby shed by armed police and were now milling about amongst the women at the foot of the gangway. It was clear from their actions that they were the unfortunate husbands. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> David and I assumed that since the new republic was involved in a bitter struggle for its very existence, the husbands would eventually be required to take up arms in its defence. This was probably the reason for the men being physically restrained from boarding the ship by the heavily armed detachment of police. Because the men were being prevented from accompanying their loved ones, they were forced to say their farewells on the quayside in full view of everyone on board. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> Saddened and bitter at a regime that could cause so much pain and misery for its people, I watched the pitiful sight with a growing feeling of helpless anger as the men, women and children enacted the time honoured ritual of saying goodbye to each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> From my position on the ship’s rail high above the quay, I could hear the sobbing and crying as the police began to pull the men away from their families. It was hard to imagine a more heart-breaking scene. Particularly since I knew that the people involved may never see each other again. Even the most cynical of observers must have been moved at the sight of those unhappy families hugging and kissing each other, possibly for the last time in their lives. Many of us were so shocked and upset at seeing the children being wrenched from their father’s last embrace by over-zealous policemen that we began to shout and scream at the officers to let the men on board. Alas, our efforts were wasted. The police continued with their unpleasant duty and began to escort the men back to the shed at rifle point. That final, forced departure of the men-folk must have been sheer torture for the families involved.... <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 16pt;">Excerpts from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Last Bature,</i> by K C Ryeland <o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB">A policeman’s tale set in 1960s post-colonial West Africa<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter VII: Blood and Guts<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB">....The police Land-Rover approached the military checkpoint on the way out of Mokuba Township and Mike Stevens slowed the vehicle. Normally, the military would simply wave police vehicles through without them having to stop, but on this occasion the soldier on duty held up his hand in a clear signal to stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“What the hell is wrong with this bloke?” said Mike, to no one in particular.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“He is just a boy, sir,” said Bello. “It is probably his first time on roadblock duty.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike brought the Land-Rover to a halt and the soldier walked to the driver’s side with a smile plastered all over his face. However, when he saw that a white man was sitting in the driver’s seat, his lips fell apart and he emitted two sharp sounds from his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Ah! Ah! You go be policeman, sa,” cried the young soldier, staring at Mike’s tunic top.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike, now quite used to such reactions from young Nibanans, unaccustomed to seeing white men in police uniform, simply said, “Why have you stopped us, Private? You can see we are police officers on official business.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Sorry, sa, I never sabby<a href="file:///C:/Users/owner/Downloads/ExcerptsTheLastBature.doc#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">[1]</span></span></span></a> master him dey for motor. I tink say na Nibana man him dey for motor,” said the soldier, in his quaint pidgin English.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, I dare say you weren’t expecting to see a white man in a police uniform. You were expecting there to be only Nibanan policemen inside, weren’t you? But what plans had you in mind if I had not been here, I wonder?” said Mike, brusquely.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">It is probable that the soldier only understood a quarter of what Mike said because he looked blankly at Inspector Akure sitting in the passenger seat and said, “I never sabby what dissy master him go talk me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Bello, well aware of what the soldier was up to, replied in the Usmar language, “Then you had better let us go pretty quickly before this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bature</i> calls your barracks on our radio and reports you for harassing the police.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The soldier became quite agitated and said, “OK, sa, make you go now, now, sa. Bye-bye, tank you, sa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Bye-bye,” said Mike, mimicking the soldier, as he let the clutch out and roared off as fast as he could.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Bloody little bastard, he was after dash<a href="file:///C:/Users/owner/Downloads/ExcerptsTheLastBature.doc#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">[2]</span></span></span></a> or cigarettes, wasn’t he?” said Mike as he slowed the vehicle to a more comfortable pace.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, something like that,” said Bello, resignedly. “Since the army took control of the country these soldiers have become bolder and bolder by the month. They would never have dared to stop us three months ago, sir. It was only because you were in the vehicle that he let us go without asking for something, despite me being an inspector.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, and it’s going to get worse,” said Mike, with a sigh. “Though it’s a good job he didn’t realise that our radio is only tuned to police frequencies, eh, Bello.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Oh, yes, I had forgotten that you speak Usmar, sir, It is just as well I did not say anything derogatory about you, sir,” the smile on Bello’s face indicating the joke.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike Stevens laughed and said, “Yes, Bello you have to be careful what you say in that lingo of yours when I’m around. Though, as you know, my Usmar is of the kitchen variety. Good only for greetings, farewells and ordering beer and food.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, sir,” said Bello, still smiling broadly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">They made good progress despite the terrible road conditions and just as Mike Stevens was assuring himself they would arrive at Yula well before dark, he spotted a problem in the distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The long straight section of road enabled Mike to see quite a way ahead, but what he saw did not inspire him. It looked as though vehicles were blocking the carriageway, or rather the debris of vehicles; large trucks or mammy-wagons by the look of things. As they drew closer the three police officers realised they were going to face further delay.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">There had been a head-on collision between two trucks, but there was also a mammy-wagon involved and the carnage was enormous. Apart from the distorted remains of the steel cabs and chassis, and the smashed remnants of the ubiquitous wooden bodies that were fitted to all indigenously operated trucks and buses in Nibana, the road was littered with market produce and personal belongings. There was something else littering the road too; human bodies, dozens of them, lying in grotesque forms, many covered in blood. Some of the bodies were so badly mutilated they were beyond recognition; others were simply lying there as though sleeping. There were other people who had escaped injury altogether and they occupied themselves in trying to comfort the more seriously injured, but with no medical knowledge or equipment they could do little to help.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike pulled to the side of the road and instructed Bello to get on the radio to the local police post and ask them to arrange for the nearest hospital to send ambulances, doctors and equipment. He and Constable Rufai then approached the scene with trepidation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Almost immediately, the people who had escaped injury began wailing and screaming at the two policemen, imploring them to do something about the seriously injured people lying in the road. With no equipment other than the first-aid box carried by all police vehicles, Mike decided that the best he could do was to assure the hapless survivors that he had requested help from the nearest police post. This seemed to calm them somewhat and Mike began the grim task of determining how many of the victims were actually alive. He began to examine the bodies lying in the road and, after a few moments, instructed the constable to do the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The majority of the passengers in the mammy-wagon had been women and children, and it sickened Mike Stevens to see the extent of the slaughter around him. Some were lying still and some were moaning, others were screaming in pain. Clearly, when the medics turned up, these were the people needing attention first. As Mike tried to sort some kind of priority list by writing numbers on pages torn from his notebook and placing them on the victim’s bodies where the medics would see them, the uninjured passengers began protesting at some of Mike’s decisions. The constant panicky chatter from these people began to irritate him and Mike ordered them to sit at the side of the road and be quiet. He was more than aware that he may be making wrong decisions, but he felt he had to do something so not to waste the medic’s time.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike had counted fifty-four people at the scene. The two truck drivers were dead in their cabs along with six others who had obviously been passengers in both trucks, their mangled bodies hanging in grotesque poses amongst the distorted metal and therefore Mike wasted no further time on them.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">From the way in which the vehicles had ended up in the road, it was clear the mammy-wagon had tried to overtake one of the trucks, but couldn’t make it before the other truck, approaching from the opposite direction, hit both the mammy-wagon and the truck it was overtaking. It was the old, old story, Mike had seen the result of reckless overtaking many times before, and he shook his head in sadness at the waste of life and the stupidity of it all....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter XVI: Dirty Tricks<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB">....The British high commissioner sat at his desk in the High Commission building in Laguna waiting for the first secretary commercial to come to his office. When, at last, the man appeared, the high commissioner stood up and said, “Where the hell is your bloody agent, Charles? He should have been in contact by now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The first secretary commercial looked at his shoes before mumbling something quite incomprehensible to the high commissioner.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“What did you say?” cried the high commissioner, sorely irritated by whole situation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve heard nothing from Mohammed Bouari since we decided he should recruit that white policeman from the north to assist him recover the weapon,” replied the first secretary.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“When did you say these damn Yubas are going to launch their coup? Tonight? You do realise that our plan could backfire on us if the Yubas are successful in their attempt to take over Nibana. That dining room steward you so carefully nurtured, and who now has possession of the device, is a Yuba. What are you going to do, Charles, if he decides to hand it over to the Yuba military after the coup? Worse still, what if he gives it to the French or actually hands it back to the Russians and the North Koreans? We’ll never get our hands on the technology then, Charles. That’s assuming we need the technology. I’ve yet to hear from those damn fools in London,” said the high commissioner, despondently.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Well, sir, I could send more agents out there, but I don’t want them tripping over each other. I’m confident that Bouari and Stevens, that’s the white policeman, sir, will come through for us,” said the first secretary, in a hopeful tone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Can we really trust that Bouari fellow, Charles? After all, he is a Lebanese national and he’s a Muslim too. How long have you known him?” queried the high commissioner.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Sir, I can vouch for him. He has served us loyally for a long time. I have no reason to think he would double-cross us now, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Very well, Charles. I shall leave it with you, but God help you if this goes sour.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">With that, the high commissioner dismissed his first secretary commercial with a slight wave of the hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Nissi Offiong paced his office in utter frustration and continually cursed Major Etuk for not getting in touch, as specifically instructed, just as soon as he’d completed his mission to plant the nuclear device at the Western Police College in Ndabi.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Despite being in a foul temper, Nissi suddenly had a brilliant idea and reached for the handset of the red telephone on his desk. Thirty minutes later, he called for his ADC and barked a string of orders at the frightened man.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Later that evening, Lieutenant Memeka stood to attention in the governor’s private sitting room, having rushed to Ugune from the mine on receiving the urgent summons from the governor’s ADC.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Lieutenant, I understand you work closely with Major Etuk, not so?” began the governor in a relaxed, casual tone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, sir, I work very closely with the major, but I have not seen him for a day or two. Is he here in Ugune, sir?” replied the lieutenant, nervously.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Do not question me, Lieutenant, or you will be severely punished. You are here to answer my questions. Do you understand? Now listen carefully. When was the last time you saw the major? Think before you answer, Lieutenant,” said the governor in a menacing tone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The lieutenant began to panic as he tried to remember when he had last seen the major. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Sorry, sir, but I think I last saw him two days ago when I drove him from the mine to see you here in Ugune, sir. When he had finished here, I drove him back to the rest house in Yula where he dismissed me and I have not seen him since, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Memeka noticed the suspicious look on the governor’s face and he decided to add more to his story in a desperate attempt at appeasement.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I think he spoke to one of the Koreans at the rest house, sir, because I saw the two men leave in the Land-Rover half an hour later, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The governor continued to stare menacingly at the lieutenant and Memeka became frightened again and added yet further information to his report in the hope that it would somehow please the governor.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Sir, I think they may have gone to the mine, sir, because I watched them leave and I noticed that they took the mine track. I could see the headlights heading in that direction for quite a while, sir. I have not seen the major or the scientist since then, sir. I swear on the life of my mother, sir,” pleaded the lieutenant.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said the governor, smiling. “I want you to find the major for me, but first you must swear allegiance to me personally. Do you understand?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The lieutenant longed to be somewhere else, but smiled back at the governor saying, “Yes, sir, of course, sir. I am a loyal officer, sir. I will swear to you my absolute allegiance and obedience, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Thank you, Lieutenant, you are very wise. Now then, when you eventually find Major Etuk, you will kill him and retrieve the property that he has stolen from me,” said the governor as he motioned for Memeka to sit down.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The governor’s previous telephone enquiries had led him to believe that Etuk was in Laguna rather than Ndabi, where he should have been. The red telephone connected directly to his close friend, the commander of the Arakan Barracks in Laguna, and he’d confirmed that Etuk had dropped off an army Land-Rover there, changed into civilian clothes and proceeded on foot to a taxi rank, struggling with a large suitcase. Suspicious of Etuk’s strange behaviour, the commander had had him followed. When the commander’s ADC, the man detailed to follow Etuk, confirmed that the major had checked into a cheap township hotel, the commander naturally assumed the major was there to meet with a girlfriend. At that point, he called off the tail and thought no more of it until the military governor had made specific enquiries.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The governor told Memeka the name of the hotel in Laguna where he could expect to find the major. He then reiterated that Memeka should kill the officer immediately, retrieve a large suitcase, contact him and await orders. The governor emphasised that Memeka should not open the suitcase under any circumstances; suggesting forcefully that the penalty for doing so would be extreme. However, not wishing to frighten his new man completely out of his wits, the governor went on to confirm that Memeka’s reward for success would be immunity from prosecution, promotion to captain and a lifetime appointment to the governor’s personal staff at Government House in Ugune.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Lieutenant Memeka smiled and said, “Yes, sir, I understand perfectly. I will leave for Laguna right away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The military attaché at the Soviet Embassy paced the floor of his office smoking one cigarette after another, thinking anxiously about the North Korean nuclear weapon. He didn’t hear the gentle knock on his door the first time, but when it was repeated a little louder some seconds later, he called for his security advisor to enter.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Comrade, you persuaded me that your plan would work, but now we have lost contact with that steward from the British High Commission whom you nurtured and moulded for many months. Just what is going on, Comrade, are you in control of your operative or not?” growled the attaché.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, Comrade Military Attaché, I am in full control. Please do not concern yourself over this stupid steward. He has simply misunderstood my very clear and concise instructions, Comrade Military Attaché. My best agent is about to make contact with him this evening, Comrade,” replied the security advisor, nervously.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The military attaché looked at his security advisor for a moment and then said very quietly, “Very well, Comrade, but if you fail us on this, you can look forward to no less than thirty years in a corrective labour camp.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Since Stalin’s death in 1953, senior Soviet political and military figures no longer used the common and well-understood term for the harsh system of political prisoner re-education in the Soviet Union: The Gulag.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span lang="EN-GB">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The French military attaché stood looking out of his office window in the French Embassy on Laguna Island, almost across the street from the British High Commission and the Soviet Embassy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Do you think this offer is genuine or is it just a joke?” said the French ambassador as he paced the office nervously.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Well, sir, if it is genuine we shall have the micro-nuclear technology that no other Western power possesses. If it is a joke, as you put it, well, no one will know that some Nibanan took us for fools. I can assure you of that, sir. My agent is well aware of his orders,” said the military attaché, without turning away from the window to face his ambassador.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Very well, Pierre. Continue with your plan and deploy your agent, but do not tell me any more details about this steward from the British High Commission. I want to be able to look the British high commissioner in the eye at diplomatic parties and deny everything without feeling guilty. Just be sure to report that you have been successful when we meet for breakfast in the morning,” said the ambassador as he opened the military attaché’s door and quickly departed....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chapter XXI: Homeward Bound<o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike Stevens and the others on the police launch watched in silence as the Israeli submarine slowly slipped below the waves leaving a trail of turbulence, bubbles and foam for dozens of yards. When the disturbance on the surface of the sea had subsided, it was as though the submarine had never been there.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Well, sir, what do we do now?” said Bello, breaking the silence that had enveloped everyone on the launch.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“We go home, Bello, that’s what we do,” said Mike, resignedly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Am I imagining things or did Chief Superintendent Bouari steal that device from us, sir?” queried Bello.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes, he did Bello. I can’t condone what he did, but at least it’s gone to a nation with some sense of morality, whose people understand the meaning of suffering and oppression. This, I hope, means they will use the technology to prevent war rather than encourage it. Perhaps Israel’s acquisition of nuclear weapons will stop the surrounding Arab nations from constantly attacking them. Who knows, it may actually lead to peace in the Middle East. Wouldn’t that be something, Bello?” replied Mike Stevens, hoping Bello would understand his stance on the matter.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Yes sir, that would be a wonderful thing, but I do not think it will happen,” said Bello, quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike realised that Bello, a Muslim, found it difficult to see the Israeli point of view and so he changed the subject entirely.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“OK, let’s make straight for the coast, turn left and follow it along until we reach Laguna. We must return this launch and explain what has happened,” said Mike, addressing everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike worked out a course and the constable, now quite a proficient helmsman, volunteered to steer the launch.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Within twenty minutes, they could see a thin black line on the northern horizon, indicating that the coast of Nibana was about two and a half miles away.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Only when a klaxon sounded did the occupants of the launch realise there was a US guided missile frigate closing on them from behind. Five minutes later a loud whooping sound drew their eyes to the left side of the launch where a Royal Navy destroyer was running alongside at a distance of about two hundred yards.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“What the hell is going on here? I should have detailed someone to watch the damn radar screen,” said Mike, more to himself than to anyone else. “Bello, we had better stop and see what these chaps want. Though I suspect they are looking for the device.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Bello instructed the constable to close the throttles and they waited for the frigate and the destroyer to stop and send crewmen in outboard-powered inflatables.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The American inflatable arrived first with an officer and four armed marines. Minutes later, the Royal Navy inflatable turned up with an officer and two armed sailors.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I am Lieutenant Ford from the USS<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> England</i> and I demand to search this launch, stand aside while we board.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I am Lieutenant Jackson from HMS<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Cavalier</i>; we would like to question you regarding a certain device. May we come aboard?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The inflatables had approached the launch from either side and were now lying alongside bobbing on the waves with the two officers trying to assert themselves, but in very different ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Now just hold on a moment, sailor-boys. This is a Nibana police launch and I am SDPO Mike Stevens, a senior Nibana police officer. We are heading back to Laguna in the course of our duty and, if I am not mistaken, we are now well within Nibanan territorial waters. You have no right to board or question us without my express permission. Now then, how do you want to play this one, gentlemen? Sensibly or strictly by the book?” said Mike, smiling at the two lieutenants in turn as he waved his warrant card at them.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The two naval officers looked at each other across the width of the launch and shrugged before nodding their heads in agreement.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Welcome aboard, Lieutenants, how can I help you?” said Mike, smiling again.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">After scrambling aboard the police launch, the naval officers told Mike they had already intercepted the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kruger</i>, albeit individually, and found nothing. However, when Captain De Jager told each of them the device had been stolen by some ‘pirates’ in a large launch, adding that the pirates had also kidnapped the bulk of his African crew, the Americans and the British, consulting on their ship’s radios, decided to join forces in an attempt to search out the miscreants.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike began to explain what had actually happened aboard the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kruger</i>, asking the naval officers whether the crewmen from the freighter looked and behaved as though they had been the victims of a kidnapping. When the two officers conceded there had been no kidnap attempt, Mike went on to explain that Bouari had hijacked the weapon and boarded an Israeli submarine. As soon as they heard this piece of news, the naval officers became very agitated, demanding to know when and where this had occurred, and which direction the submarine had taken.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Mike gave them his best estimate of the time that had elapsed since Bouari took off and showed them the rendezvous position Bouari had marked on the chart, but he could not enlighten them regarding the direction the submarine had taken.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“It just submerged. It could have gone anywhere once it was under the water, but don’t you chaps have submarine detection devices on your ships?” said Mike, expecting a positive reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Both naval officers nodded, but confirmed that making contact could be difficult in a large area of ocean such as the Bight of Laguna.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“We could grid-search this area for weeks and never detect the sub, so I must get back to my ship and report to my captain,” said the American.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I would put my money on the Israelis taking the short way home via Gibraltar,” began the Royal Navy officer. “They could go the long way around the Cape and then through the Suez Canal, of course. The canal has no lock gates and is forty-six feet deep, so an ex-British ‘S’ class sub, which is what the Israelis have, in theory, could pass through submerged, but it would be very difficult for them with all the surface traffic. Furthermore, the Egyptians manage the canal and so the Israelis would have no chance of getting through legitimately or by stealth in my view. The only thing I can do is report back to my captain and he may ask the Admiralty what they want us to do.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“Sorry I can’t be more helpful, gentlemen,” said Mike, apologetically.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“That’s fine, sir, but I have one last request. Do you mind if we search the launch? We have to be sure, you understand,” said the American.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The Royal Navy officer nodded agreement with his American counterpart and Mike, realising they had their duties to perform, relented and said, “OK, but don’t break anything, it’s not my launch.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">When they came upon the gun-locker, the British officer asked Mike for the key to the padlock. Mike informed him that Bouari had taken it, and the officer indicated it would be necessary to force the lock. Mike shrugged his shoulders and the British officer called to one of his sailors in the inflatable. Seconds later the sailor produced a bayonet and handed it to the officer.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Five minutes later, with the lock duly prised open and the locker emptied of its contents, the naval officers thanked Mike and his colleagues, made absolutely no comment regarding the array of Sten guns, rifles and revolvers lying on the deck, saluted smartly and re-boarded their inflatables. Within minutes, the naval visitors had reached their respective ships and the police launch resumed its journey to Laguna.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">It took quite while to find the creek that would lead them to the first secretary’s house where they had originally collected the launch some twelve hours ago. It was beginning to get dark and Mike was relieved when he recognised the landing stage and, as they came closer, the outline of the large, white bungalow where the first secretary lived. Having to locate the landing stage in the pitch black of night would have required the use of one of the several spot lamps attached to the top of the cabin. Naturally, Mike would have been reluctant to do this because of the curfew, still in force until sun-up in twelve hour’s time.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The nightwatchman helped to secure the launch and Mike went up to the house to speak with the first secretary, whilst the rest of the group waited patiently on the landing stage.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The first secretary nearly had a seizure when Mike told him that Bouari had been a Mossad agent all along and had hijacked the device for Israel before making his getaway in an Israeli submarine. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The demoralised man simply sat at his kitchen table staring out of the window at the shadowy outline of the launch, now moored securely at the jetty, wondering what the high commissioner would have to say when he broke the news to him in the morning....<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">***Note from Kenneth*** I would like to give away one of my <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305712319_0" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">Novellas</span> on Smashwords as an incentive to the readers.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XF6G8aeVmd4/TdOYVNi4ISI/AAAAAAAAAGc/tmkV-a5hllo/s1600/BoomTown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XF6G8aeVmd4/TdOYVNi4ISI/AAAAAAAAAGc/tmkV-a5hllo/s320/BoomTown.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">It's a story called "<span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305712319_1" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">Boom Town</span>" which I have extracted from my compendium of short stories "<span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305712319_2" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">Tribal Gathering</span>"</span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">The synopsis is as follows:</span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"></div><div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">"<span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305712319_3" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-color: initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: initial; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">BOOM TOWN</span></span></b><span lang="EN-GB">: <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305712319_4" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">Charlie Robinson</span> is employed to open a new branch of the company in the oil-rich Enube Delta of Nibana, a failing ex-British colony on the west coast of Africa. Although he encounters many difficulties, the business succeeds until the region is plunged into civil war. Sabotage finally renders all he has worked for lost, but out of the chaos comes an opportunity for fabulous riches and a new life in an altogether different part of Africa.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN-GB">A story of greed, corruption and life in a township under the heel of the multinational oil companies."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">Readers can obtain the novella free of charge in any e-format by quoting coupon number </span><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">HT94J</span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"> before proceeding to the checkout on Smashwords. The link to the novella is</span><b style="font-size: 16px;"> </b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305756664_0"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/35262" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><b>http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/35262</b></a></span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305756664_0"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/35262" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">The coupon is valid from today (16th May) until the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305712319_5" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;">31st May.</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305712319_5" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(54, 99, 136); border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 2px; color: #366388; cursor: pointer;"><br />
</span></span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">My webpage is</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1305712086_15" style="color: #366388;"><a href="http://africantales.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #006599; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://africantales.wordpress.com</a></span></span></b></span></div></div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-69447611255834395862011-05-11T05:52:00.000-04:002011-05-11T05:52:41.799-04:00Featured Author for May 11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" j8="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aGkqTYND5mI/TY09Kfh2eyI/AAAAAAAAADM/Ma0EK-dyAb4/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" /></a></div><h5><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;"></span></span> </h5><h5><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;"></span></span> </h5><h5><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;"></span></span> </h5><h5><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">Be sure to click on The Book Shelf Link Above to find more great books to read!</span></span></h5><h5><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: blue;">This Week's Featured Author: </span></span></h5><h5><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: blue;">Katie Klein, author of </span></span></h5><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kTYJeipc6HQ/TY-RW_CFBNI/AAAAAAAAADg/wTkJVixJ4Uc/s1600/Katieall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kTYJeipc6HQ/TY-RW_CFBNI/AAAAAAAAADg/wTkJVixJ4Uc/s400/Katieall.jpg" width="400px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cross-My-Heart-ebook/dp/B004S7MLWQ?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Cross My Heart</a> or <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004S7MLWQ/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&link_code=as3&camp=2506&creative=9298&creativeASIN=B004S7MLWQ">Cross My Heart</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B004S7MLWQ" jquery1303838830124="10" jquery1305106476493="16"><span style="color: #006599;">Amazon UK</span></a> or <a href="http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012246912&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FCross-My-Heart%2FKatie-Klein%2Fe%2F2940012246912&usg=AFHzDLtLc0JNHmUcwTFTb3vBJt6u5G3XBg&pubid=21000000000353156"><span style="color: #006599;">Nook</span></a> $3.99<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Guardian-ebook/dp/B004FPYO8K?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Guardian</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1px" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004FPYO8K" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1px" /> $2.99 Kindle Edition or <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004FPYO8K/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&link_code=as3&camp=2506&creative=9298&creativeASIN=B004FPYO8K">The Guardian</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B004FPYO8K" jquery1303838830124="9" jquery1305106476493="15"><span style="color: #006599;">Amazon UK</span></a> or <a href="http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940011931468&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FThe-Guardian%2FKatie-Klein%2Fe%2F2940011931468&usg=AFHzDLt15KYMA6vaVcM5EhbhWKZsSwUiaA&pubid=21000000000353156"><span style="color: #006599;">Nook</span></a><br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">Read an interview with Katie on the Chair to Chair Page>>></span><br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Cross My Heart</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Katie Klein</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">______________________________________________</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Chapter One</span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Never underestimate the power of glitter. It’s Kindergarten 101, really. Squeeze an unrealistic amount of glue on construction paper. Dump a pile of glitter on top. Shake. And let dry. Glitter is like . . . little flecks of brilliance caught in a tube. A miracle in a jar. Because glitter can take any work in progress to that next level. It hides the most glaring of imperfections, works to bring out the best in everything. It takes the ordinary and turns it into something interesting and beautiful. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Refrigerator-worthy. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Perfect.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I stand back, hands perched on my hips, admiring my handiwork.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>RAFFLE—$5.00 PER TICKET. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The pink words twinkle beneath the tarnished, gold-plated chandelier welcoming guests to the front office. I flick the edge of the poster board, and a few specks of glitter fall, shimmering to the tile floor. A trail of the rosy sparkles chased me the entire morning: from my bedroom to the car, across the parking lot, and down the hallway to here—the foyer of my high school. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I sweep my hands together, then smear my palms across my jeans. Wrong move. I brush my pants vigorously. When this doesn’t work, I remove a miniature lint roller from my purse, peel off the old adhesive layer, and run it across my lap until I’m sparkle-free. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first bell rings and I bounce to attention, shoving the roller back into my purse. As classmates trickle inside, I sit up straighter, adjusting the cash box in front of me and planting a pleasant smile across my face. Business Friendly. They ignore me, pushing through the glass doors, cell phones pressed against their ears, mid-conversation, twirling through their iPod playlists in search of anthems to begin their day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My cell phone buzzes, lighting, the vibration exaggerated against the wooden tabletop. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Right on time.</i> A photo of Blake, my boyfriend, flashes across the screen. The picture draws a smile—his gray-blue eyes, blonde hair glowing beneath the fluorescents, giving him an ephemeral, angelic appeal. I read the early morning text message wishing me a Happy Monday. He is nothing if not dependable, and I try to think if a school day has passed since we began dating where he hasn’t sent a morning message like this. I can’t, and craft a response. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I’m typing, a book bag thuds to the floor and Savannah, my best friend, crashes into the chair beside me. She immediately lowers her head to the table, burying it in her arms.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re here early. I’m kind of impressed,” I say, sending my text message and shutting the phone with a snap.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She groans. It’s muffled. Far away.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I glance over at her, not concerned in the least. I love Savannah, but she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is </i>prone to melodrama. “Good weekend?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She lifts her head. Her straight, blonde hair is pulled away from her face with a headband. “Two days away from the love of my life and my weekend is supposed to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">good?</i>”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know you’re not talking about me,” I tell her. “Because I just saw you Saturday.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Let’s just say I can’t wait for lunch, k?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I believe you.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She turns in her seat, studying the poster taped to the wall. “I guess you talked to the Wal-Mart people,” she says. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I did. They offered an amazing discount on the game and the console—I mean, they’re practically giving it to us.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She frowns. “They should. People were trampled over those things the day after Thanksgiving.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Which fully explains their willingness to give back to the community. And rightly so. It is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">family</i> store.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I don’t know why they don’t sell bullet-proof vests. God knows you need one to make it in and out safely.”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I force back the knowing smirk pulling at my lips. “Which is why I do all of my shopping . . .”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Online. We know,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes. “It sucks that the rest of us haven’t reached your level of enlightenment, yet.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Keep striving,” I tease.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr. Connelly, one of the history teachers, navigates the crowd of students, weaving in and out as he passes through the lobby, a cup of coffee steaming in his hand. He pauses in front of us, the chandelier light reflecting in his shiny, balding forehead. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Good morning, Jaden. Good morning, Savannah. What are we saving this time?” he asks.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I smile brightly, the spiel I memorized weeks ago poised on my lips. “The children of Bangladesh. Did you know malaria is one of the leading causes of death in children? It’s a totally preventable disease. If we can get treated mosquito nets in every home, the cases would cut dramatically.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sounds like a worthy cause,” he replies. “As always. What are you raffling?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“An ‘A’ in your American Government class,” Savannah grumbles, arms folded. I can almost read her mind: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Because that’s the only way to get an ‘A’ in your class</i>. Which is not entirely true . . . because I have one. In fact, it’s safe to say I’ve aced all of Mr. Connelly’s classes. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I throw her a dirty look. “Wii Fit.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I wonder which would bring in more donations,” he mutters thoughtfully, lifting his I READ THE CONSTITUTION FOR THE ARTICLES mug and sipping slowly.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The ‘A,’” Savannah and I reply in unison.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He swallows. “Yes, well, thankfully there are laws in place for that sort of thing. So . . . I will buy my ticket,” he continues, reaching for his wallet, “in hopes that I win a Fit.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Savannah snickers, turning her head away and covering her mouth to conceal her smile.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I suppose you wouldn’t need an ‘A’ in your own class,” I muse, jabbing my elbow into her arm. She straightens, rubbing the affected area.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He shakes his head. “No,” he replies. “Not today.” He hands me a floppy five-dollar bill, soft and stained, which I trade for a ticket.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank you, Mr. Connelly.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank you, ladies.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Savannah bursts into giggles the moment Mr. Connelly walks away, the smell of his black coffee still lingering in the air around us. “Oh my God. Did he just call it a ‘Fit’?” she asks.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, I think so. But, you know, it’s five dollars.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The children of Bangladesh thank us.” She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Jaden?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I sit up straighter. “Yes, Mr. Connelly?” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Will I see you in peer tutoring this afternoon?” he calls from across the busy hall.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Absolutely,” I reply, lips stretching into my trademark smile: wide enough to show off straight and exceptionally white teeth—thank you, Crest Whitestrips—but not fake. Just . . . happy to help. Always. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When the two-minute warning bell rings, we split up. Savannah heads toward her first period class, while I stop by the school office to turn in our cash box for safekeeping and say hi to the secretaries. The halls are abandoned by the time I finish—silent—the lockers standing dormant and passive. A trail of crumpled papers and empty candy wrappers steers me to English. I bend down to pick up some of the larger pieces, dumping them in the trashcan by the water fountain on my way to Ms. Tugwell’s room.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I check the time on my cell phone just outside the door, lips pulling into a frown. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ms. Tugwell won’t count me late, though. She never counts me late. No teacher counts me late. Ever. I slip inside the classroom and guide the door shut, easing it closed with my hand. Still, every head turns to me as the lock clicks. I feel my cheeks flush with heat and tiptoe to my seat at the back of the room as discretely as possible. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This project will be worth thirty percent of your semester grade,” Ms. Tugwell says. She pauses, </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose, and peering at me with slightly magnified eyes. “Nice of you to take time out of your busy ‘saving the planet’ schedule to join us, Miss McEntyre.”</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I smile cheerfully, even as my classmates snicker around me. “Poverty doesn’t sleep, Ms. Tugwell. If I don’t do my part, who will?” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">“</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Indeed.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ms. Tugwell is, at the least, heavy set. She’s actually pretty large, and spends most of her time sitting in her chair behind her desk. She doesn’t really walk . . . more like waddles, and the ground beneath her trembles as she moves. Her glasses are at least thirty years out of style, and the lenses themselves are probably decades old, because she wears the same plaid jumpers that balloon at her waist . . . every single day . . . with her sneakers. She’s a good teacher—I like her—but every year, when a new group of idiot freshmen boys comes in. . . . I mean, “tugboat” doesn’t sound <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anything</i> like Tugwell. But that doesn’t seem to deter some people.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My teacher shakes her head, but even so, I’m almost certain a tiny smile forms as she turns her attention back to the white board.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I breathe a quick sigh of relief. No tardy. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Moving on. This assignment will not be turned in for another two months, but that doesn’t mean you should wait until the last minute. You and your partner should make plans to meet as soon as possible, then regularly until it’s due.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d suggest you get together before the end of today, so you can decide what literary piece you will focus on. You’ll find the list of acceptable works in the information packet on your desks.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I skim the light blue pages, running my finger over the staple in the top left corner, then raise my hand. “When do we pick partners?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ms. Tugwell re-positions her glasses. “About three minutes ago.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Three minutes . . . ,” I trail off. Before I made it to class. Partners have already been picked. I force an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t here.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know you weren’t, so I had the pleasure of assigning you one.” She grins knowingly, and I sit back, heart thudding rhythmically in my chest, waiting while she takes her time, studying her gradebook, stretching the suspense as far as she can possibly manage, until finally: “You and Parker will be working together.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Parker.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Parker Whalen.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For a moment my breath escapes me. My heart slows to a crawl, and it pounds heavy in my ears. I glance to my right where, two rows over, Parker Whalen sits. He’s there, wearing his typical jeans, typical black crew-neck shirt, and typical black leather jacket. His motorcycle helmet, which for some reason he does <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> keep in his locker, rests at his feet just beside his black bag. Stereotypical bad boy motorcycle rider—lots of intimidating gazes and determined angst. I heard he was in a gang, but find that completely hard to believe because he never wears any colors, he never gets into any trouble, and he never speaks to anyone. The whole gang thing is about camaraderie anyway, and he’s always alone. Plus, it’s not like Bedford is brimming with criminals. There are what? Twelve hundred people in our town? We don’t even have a Wal-Mart for God’s sake—that’s a town over (thankfully). And to actually get any decent shopping done, we have to drive an hour and a half into Hamilton. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Parker Whalen.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m not sure why I’m even surprised. My guess? It took my classmates all of ten seconds to select their partners. Parker would have been avoided, leaving me, not present at the time, as the only viable option. I swallow a sigh. No big deal. It’s just a project. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There is nothing I cannot handle</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thanks,” I reply, forcing a smile. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I steal another quick glance in Parker’s direction. This time our eyes meet. They lock to mine, slicing into me, and I stagger against his frown, smile wavering; his hard stare, smoldering; his quiet intensity as it sparks through my veins, leaving my entire body prickling in bewilderment. It’s like he hates me already, and I haven’t even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">done</i> anything. I shift in my chair, uneasy. Only after what feels like an eternity’s worth of awkwardness am I able to tear my eyes away, shrinking lower in my seat as I flip my notebook open to a clean page.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The moment the bell rings I cram my books into my bag and stand, slinging it over my shoulder. Not thinking, I look toward Parker’s desk. But his seat is empty. I just do see a flash of black leather as he escapes the room. I hurry after him, but by the time I reach the hallway, so has everyone else. Whichever way he’s gone, Parker has already disappeared into the swirling mass of students—laughing, talking, tossing things back and forth—and as hard as I search—twisting, turning, peering over heads—there’s no sign of him.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Chapter Two</span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">He doesn’t re-enter my world until lunch. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The one thing I know for sure about Parker Whalen is that he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">never</i> sits inside. He eats at the picnic tables on the lawn, even on days like today, when the wind chill hovers just above freezing and the sky threatens rain. It’s impossible to know how he spends our lunch period, because he never faces the rest of us. We’ve never spoken. English is the only class we share, and we don’t exactly hang out in the same circles. In fact, I can’t imagine Parker Whalen hanging out with anyone . . . for any reason . . . at all. The truth? The rest of us grew up together. We filtered to one high school. Even if we didn’t go to the same middle school, Bedford is a tiny town, and everyone knows everyone, and everything <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">about </i>everyone. When Parker arrived, he never really managed to break into the cliques formed at birth. Whether or not he’d even tried, he always remained something of an outsider.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Man, I’m telling you, they had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nothing</i> on you. Hey!” The familiar voice sings in my ears, happy to see me.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I squeeze between Savannah and Blake, my boyfriend, who leans over and deposits a wet, barbecue potato chip kiss on my cheek as I sit down. They flame as I subtly sweep the crumbs off my face. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey. What’s going on?” I ask, tucking my hair behind my ears before opening my brown, paper lunch bag.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I was just reminding Tony of how awesome he was at Friday’s game,” Blake informs me, chewing. Blake is a basketball player, an athlete, so I try to forgive the little nuisances, like the fact that now my cheek is all gritty and smells like his barbecue breath.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Savannah’s ears perk at this. “What happened?” she asks.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My man Tony scored forty points all by his self.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No way! That’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">amazing</i>!” she gushes, her entire face lighting.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tony shrugs, unable to look her in the eyes. I hope it’s because of his repressed feelings for her. I don’t think she could be more obvious. I don’t think he could be more oblivious. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ashley, another member of our lunchtime group, pops open the tab of her soda. It hisses, and she has to suck back the fizz. “This was an away game, right?” she asks.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, we beat North Central ninety-five to sixty-eight,” says Blake.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We crushed them,” Tony adds.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You, my friend, were on fire.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fire!” Tony repeats.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fire,” Blake finishes.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh my God, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so</i> wish I could’ve been there,” Savannah tells Tony. “It’s just that it was so far to drive, and my parents are like . . . ugh.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Across the table, Ashley rolls her eyes. “You hate basketball.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Savannah tosses a dirty look in her direction. “No. I don’t. I mean, it’s not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> bad.” She turns her attention back to Tony, all smiles again. “You could get on a college team, and then go pro!” she says excitedly, already planning Tony’s future. Visualizing herself part of it, no doubt. I’ve watched her do the same thing every day since the first week of our freshman year, with a new guy each month. She’s had an eye on Tony as of November, which is probably some kind of record. Usually by this time she’s either already dated and dumped, or grown bored and moved on.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Speaking of college,” Blake says, nudging me with his knee beneath the table, “have you heard anything?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He’s asking about Harvard, and I kind of wish he wouldn’t. I’m the only one at our table who’s applied to an Ivy League school. I think I might be the only senior who’s applied to Ivy League, period, and I’m still waiting on a decision. Everyone else picked state schools or local private colleges. (Except for Savannah, who possesses absolutely no desire to continue her education beyond high school and is highly vocal about her decision . . . or lack of a decision. Whatever.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Um, no, I haven’t,” I confess.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s still early,” he replies, hopeful. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And no news isn’t necessarily bad news,” Ashley adds. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I study the turkey jammed between my sandwich bread, shrugging casually, then change the subject. “You guys are getting partners in English today. You know, for that big project?” I split my sandwich in half, tearing it straight down the middle, pinch off a bite of turkey and cheese, and pop it into my mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh my God. I totally forgot about that,” Savannah says, rolling her eyes. “I hope I get paired with a nerd.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So. . . .” Blake knocks me with his elbow as he roots around his potato chip bag, digging for fragments. “Who’s your partner?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I continue chewing for a moment, then, hesitating, cover my mouth with my hand. “Parker,” I mumble.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Whalen?” Savannah asks, eyes widening.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s the only Parker I know,” I say.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tony bursts out laughing, falling back in his chair, like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard all day. A few juniors a table over stop to stare at us, scrutinizing. “Parker Whalen? Are you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">serious</i>?” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Blake slants away from me. The shift is slight, but I notice it nonetheless. “I thought we picked partners.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We did. Sort of. I had to stop by the office so I got to class late,” I mutter. “Partners had already been picked.” I shrug. It’s not like I had a choice or anything.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So the Tugboat put you and Parker Whalen together.” His jaw tightens, words sharp and spiteful. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah. She did,” I reply, glowering at him. “And don’t call her Tugboat. It’s juvenile. And rude.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Jaden <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had</i> to do it. I mean, there’s not a person at this school who’d actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">want</i> him for a partner,” Ashley says, matter of fact, spooning a bite of yogurt. “He’s freaky. Jaden’s just nice enough to not let something like that bother her.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m not sure how I would define Parker Whalen, but freaky is a little extreme. Strange? Possibly. Eccentric? Maybe. A definite loner . . . but he doesn’t seem <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">freaky</i> to me . . . just . . . quiet. “It’s weird, actually. I don’t know anything about him. And he’s been coming to this school for what? Five? Six months?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We know enough,” Tony says. “I heard his dad makes money off some illegal dog fighting ring—totally underground.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I heard his old school kicked him out for marijuana,” says Savannah.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Which he was also arrested for,” adds Ashley.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I roll my eyes. “We don’t know if any of those things are true,” I say, still chewing. “And just because he wears black and drives a bike? I mean, we don’t even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> him.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I saw him at Vince’s a few weeks ago. He was wandering around like he was scouting the place. The dude is a freak.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My ears perk up at this. Not what he said about Parker, but Vince. Because I think he means Vince De Luca, and if that’s the case. . . . “Wait. You went to Vince De Luca’s?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Blake’s cheeks flush. Busted. Vince De Luca graduated from Bedford High a few years ago. He lives a county over now, in an old rental, and his parties are fairly notorious. Vince’s reputation is anything but stellar. Never mind that he still runs with the high school crowd. He and my brothers used to hang out, and I’ve since been warned.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I thought we talked about that.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We did,” Blake says. “I was with the guys. I swear we were only there for like, fifteen minutes. If that. Ask Tony.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I look to Tony for confirmation. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fifteen minutes,” he agrees.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You know I do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> like that guy,” I remind him. I set my sandwich on top of my bag; my appetite has mysteriously vanished. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, well, I don’t really like Parker Whalen,” Blake replies coolly. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At the end of the day, as I’m taking a quick trip to my car before I head to Mr. Connelly’s room, I see Parker again. He’s walking to the far end of the lot, where he parks his motorcycle. Blue and silver. A sport bike. Which seems perfect for him, actually. I pick up my pace, hurrying to catch up with him before he disappears. Rumors, reputation, or not, we have a project to do—a project to do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">together</i>. The sooner we talk the faster we can get to work.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Parker!” I call out, crossing in front of a red Volvo. He straps his helmet beneath his chin, then mounts the bike, using his legs to back out of the space. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Parker Whalen!” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Everyone’s eyes are fixated on me, it seems, as I weave in and out of cars and around groups of friends who’ve stopped laughing and chatting to wonder what, exactly, I’m doing. In the next moment he cranks the engine, and revs it a few times. The thunderous blasts shake my eardrums, vibrating the ground beneath me, pulsing. He peels out of the parking lot, tires squealing, not once turning my way. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I remain cemented to the asphalt in the middle of the lane, watching in disbelief as he fades away, taillights glowing. A car horn beeps behind me, punctuating my stupor. I jump, and turn toward the line of traffic snaking around the lot. I quickly move out of the way, waving an apology to the driver. I wrap my arms tightly across my chest, hugging myself in an effort to keep warm, then jog to my car, feeling the icy wind as it bites my face and numbs the tip of my nose.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I flash those still eyeing me a quick smile. Everything is absolutely under control. Parker Whalen is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> avoiding me. Not on purpose, anyway. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Chapter Three</span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I sit down at the dinner table, watching as my soon-to-be official nephew, Joshua, shoves his hand deep inside a plastic dinosaur bowl, grasping and mashing. Oatmeal dribbles over the sides and plops onto the tray of his highchair.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I hope you’re eating some of that, young man,” my mom warns.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Joshua grins, revealing the impossibly tiny baby teeth at the front of his mouth. With a smile like that? He’s the only one of us who can, quite literally, get away with everything. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Dinner!” Mom calls.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My two older brothers materialize from the living room, still dressed for work, their white socks speckled with mud and their short, brown hair pressed flat against their scalps: what we generally refer to as “hard-hat head.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey, little man,” Daniel, my oldest brother, says. “Gimme five.” He extends his hand.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Joshua giggles, and smacks it several times.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Daniel stares at the sticky, brown oatmeal splattered across his palm. “Great.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Pass me those,” my other brother, Phillip, demands, nodding toward the baked beans.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No way. That’s the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">last</i> thing you need,” I say, rolling my eyes. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Phillip pushes his shirt sleeves up his arms, past his elbows, frowning. “Just hand them to me.”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m thinking about the collective good of this family.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Shut up,” he replies, his voice rising, “and think about passing me that pot.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are you gonna say ‘please’?” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He exhales loudly, stands, and leans across the table, snatching the stainless steel dish. A trail of steam chases as it moves.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Phillip, can you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">please</i> not say that?” Sarah, Daniel’s fiancée, begs. “I don’t want Josh picking up those things. Because it would be pretty horrible to have to document his first word and it’s not ‘Mama’ or ‘Dada’ but ‘shup.’”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The four of us watch as Joshua examines a glob of oatmeal on his fist, his eyes crossing momentarily. He shoves the entire thing in his mouth, then pulls it out, covered in spit.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Impressive,” Phillip says, mouth full. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Takes after his uncle,” I say.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My dad, an older, grayer version of Daniel, sits down in his chair at the head of the table, scooting it closer as Mom enters with the rolls. I can’t quite pin-point when it happened—the wiry, gray wisps of hair and creases around the eyes—if they’ve always existed and I never noticed, or if becoming grandparents somehow triggered the changes automatically.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Is this everyone?” she asks, swiping her auburn hair (same shade as mine) away from her face. She frowns. “Phillip, can’t you wait for the rest of us?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Every seat at the table is occupied, and Joshua sits in his highchair between my mom and Sarah: a typical dinner at the McEntyre house. There are seven of us in all. My mom and dad, of course; Daniel, Sarah, and Joshua, who stay in the middle bedroom upstairs; me; and Phillip, who’s younger than Daniel by two years, and two years older than me. A true middle child. We’re nothing if not a full house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Daniel, Phillip, how was work?” Mom asks.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Good,” Daniel replies. “The house on Oak Street is almost ready to be painted.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She stabs a pork chop with her fork, and passes the plate on to Sarah. “That soon? It went up fast,” she marvels.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Chalk it up to the good winter weather we’ve been having. I don’t think we’ve had to take off a single day,” says Dad.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My eyebrow lifts instinctively as I reach for my sweet tea. I don’t know what he means by “good winter weather,” but the days we’ve been having lately—cold, dark, and miserable—are not good, in my opinion. I mean, I’m generally a glass half full kind of girl, but I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun shining. And since when did he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</i> take a day off? </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I clear my throat. “You know, Dad, the faucet on my bathroom sink is still kinda screwed up.” “Kinda screwed up” is an understatement. There’s a pipe instead of a nozzle protruding from the porcelain. I can’t get cold water unless I use a wrench, and who wants to brush their teeth with hot water?</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He reaches for his knife and cuts carefully, tearing off another piece of meat. “I know, sweetie. It’s on my list,” he assures me, chewing.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My dad’s the owner of McEntyre Construction. It’s like, a family thing. His dad started it, my dad took over when he retired, and eventually, when they grew old enough, my two brothers climbed aboard. My grandfather could fix anything. He built houses by hand then taught my dad everything he knew. Only, when my dad became president, he adopted a “why do something yourself you could pay someone <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">else </i>to do?” attitude.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because of this, Mom and I change every burnt-out light bulb; replaced the front steps after Daniel stepped through one, splitting it completely in half; and took a flat-head screwdriver to all the windows painted shut by the family before us. This is why, even after living in our Victorian “restoration” home (where nothing is restored) for several years, I can still only get cold water by using a wrench. And even then there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to tighten the pipe enough to keep the faucet from leaking, which is a pain at two in the morning, when I awake to an incessant: drip . . . drip . . . drip. . . .</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This is why the hardwood floors in my bedroom still need bracing, why the front living room stays closed off during the winter (there’s an insulation problem, and the cold air seeps through the walls), and why my mom still doesn’t have the screened-in back porch she’s always dreamed of, even though we are, by definition, living in her “dream house.” At first, I assumed my dad and brothers would get around to making all of these little “improvements”—but it never happened, and at some point along the way I stopped holding my breath.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I speak carefully. “I know . . . it’s just that . . . it’s been on your list for a while now, and it’s getting kinda hard to turn on with that wrench you let me borrow . . .”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Jaden,” he interrupts, a tinge of annoyance lacing his tone. “I’ve barely had a weekend to myself in months. The boys and I are stretched thin . . . the Bennetts are anxious to move in . . .”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A cell phone rings, severing the conversation. My dad, Phillip, and Daniel all forage around their pockets, removing phones one by one, inspecting the screens. It’s Dad’s. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This is the painter with my estimate,” he explains. “I have to take this.” He stands and walks out of the room, pressing the phone to his ear just before he disappears. “McEntyre Homes,” he says. Business Friendly. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Who’s supposed to be calling you?” I ask Phillip.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“None of your business.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I can tell you,” Daniel teases, a mischievous grin plucking at the edges of his mouth, reaching all the way to his eyes. “Unless Phillip would rather do it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Phillip tilts his head back, groaning. “You remember Becky Summerlin?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wasn’t she a year behind you?” Mom asks.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“She graduated last year,” I confirm, picturing the shy girl who’d been part of the yearbook staff, her mousy brown hair and comfortable eyes. “She was quiet, but she seemed really sweet. What does she want with you?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He rolls his eyes. “Ha. Ha. Anyway, we ran into each other last week. She was visiting her parents. We decided to meet up next time she came to town,” he explains. “That’s it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why is she calling you, then?” Sarah asks. “Why aren’t you calling her?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I did!” Phillip answers, shoulders squaring. “I left a message. Now I’m waiting for her to call me back.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How long have you been waiting?” I ask.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He shrugs, forearms propped against the table, pushing those baked beans around the plate with his fork. “A day or two.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Or three,” Daniel adds.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sarah laughs. “Well if you don’t hear from her by this weekend you might wanna give her a call back.” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Or leave her alone,” I mutter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The grandfather clock in the corner of the room strikes the hour. We eat in silence for a few moments, listening to the chimes.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Finally, Daniel clears his throat, grabbing our attention. Sarah glances over at him. “What?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are you gonna tell them?” he asks, nodding toward us.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her eyebrow lifts. “Tell them?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We watch this exchange closely, waiting for someone to speak up. The last time they had something to tell us, I became an aunt. A wintry draft passes through the dining room window, stirring the curtains and raising goose bumps on my skin. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are you going to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tell them</i>?” he emphasizes. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A wave of recognition crosses her face. “Oh. Oh! Yeah. Sure.” She turns back to us. “Daniel and I wanted to tell you that we set a date.” Her cheeks flush.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s about time,” Phillip mumbles. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yay!” I cry, clapping. “When?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, we’re thinking about the second week in June. At the gazebo in the park.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh! The park will be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">beautiful</i> that time of year!” Mom affirms. “The flowers will be blooming. . . . Let me know if you need <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any</i> help planning.” She jumps out of her seat. “I should get you the number for my florist.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Is that day okay for everyone?” Sarah asks. “I mean, you guys don’t have anything important planned do you?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My graduation is that Friday, but it’s not a conflict or anything.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A flash of remembrance lights her face, and she lifts her hand to her mouth. “Oh my gosh. Graduation. I didn’t even think about that. We can move the wedding back a week or two. It’s no big deal.” She looks to Daniel for approval. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No, no, no,” I say quickly. “I swear. There’s no conflict. I think the second weekend in June is perfect.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You have to think about the rehearsal dinner, though,” my mom says, returning from the kitchen with a card from her Rolodex. “That’s typically the night before the wedding.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well,” Sarah begins, “I don’t think we were planning on anything too formal for that. Maybe we can do it earlier in the week. Like on Wednesday or Thursday. I don’t want anything to overshadow Jaden’s night.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I smile. “You guys are not going to overshadow anything. It’s just graduation. Protocol, even. It’s no big deal.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Jaden,” Sarah chides. “Stop being so selfless. God.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not a big deal?” says Mom. “The fact that my baby girl is graduating and heading off to Harvard in the fall happens to be a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">very</i> big deal.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wait,” Daniel interrupts, eyeing me curiously. “You heard from Harvard?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,” I mutter, my cheeks searing. I poke at my pork chop, jabbing it with the fork prongs, frowning. “Mom’s assuming.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My dad bursts back into the room. “The painters are going to over-charge us. We’ve used them for how many jobs?” He grabs his glass and lifts his plate of food from the table, still full but almost certainly lukewarm by now. “Anyway, I have a few phone calls to make, so I’m going to take this in the office.” He leans down and kisses my mom on the cheek—quick, sweet, but not exactly a compelling replacement. “Dinner was great,” he says, vanishing for the last time that night.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The next day I find myself in the hallway just before school ends. One of the perks of my last hour office aid job is that, if I finish my work, the secretaries let me leave early. The thing is, I have a reputation at school. A good one, actually, and I’ve discovered a good reputation is generally advantageous . . . in an “ask and you shall receive” kind of way.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I linger at my locker, arranging books and adjusting photographs. In the uncharacteristic calmness of the hall the fluorescent lights hum, flickering, casting a sallow light on everything they swathe. Nearby, a class erupts in laughter. I breathe in the stuffy school air and brush my fingers across the Harvard crest I printed from my laserjet at the beginning of the school year. A good luck gesture. I swallow hard, suppressing the tiny butterflies in the pit of my stomach: the ones that flare up every time someone mentions the word “Harvard,” or “college,” or “future.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Any day now. </i></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m examining a photo of Blake and me from last year’s prom, our first formal together, when I notice movement at the far end of the hallway. My heart races, and I press myself tightly against the lockers, the metal cool against my legs. It’s Parker, bending over the water fountain. The vent kicks on, the buzz ricocheting off concrete walls as he finishes, and I watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before disappearing inside the guy’s bathroom.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He avoided me in English, never responding to the note I passed him asking what literary work we should pick for our project. He didn’t show up to lunch. . . . </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Without thinking, I slam my locker door shut and dash after him, my Mary Janes thwacking against the floor tiles, bag and purse bouncing behind me. I pause for a moment just outside the bathroom door, hesitating. This may be a huge mistake, but I lack options at the moment. I need him. It’s do now or die trying.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I suck in a quick breath, push through, and enter the men’s room, stumbling. Parker stands in front of the sink, washing his hands. He recoils when he sees me, startled. A flash of surprise, then confusion, crosses his face, quickly replaced by a hard scowl. His jaw tightens. “What the hell are you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">doing</i>?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Too late to back down now.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I scoff, working to right myself, spine stiffening. “What am <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i> doing? I’m sorry, but I have a major research project due in two months, and for some unfortunate reason my partner has decided to go all AWOL on me.” I fold my arms across my chest. “What is your deal?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Parker shuts off the faucet, then shakes his hands, sprinkling the mirror with tiny drops of water. “I don’t have a deal, Miss McEntyre,” he says, words smothered in sarcasm.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Then why are you avoiding me?” I ask. “We’re supposed to be partners and you’re not even speaking to me. We haven’t picked a book . . . or decided our topics. You may not care about your academic future, but I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have</i> to get a good grade on this.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He moves closer, eyes flashing, cutting through me. “I’m a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">slacker</i>? Is that what you think?” </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I drop my arms, shrinking back. Isn’t that what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everyone</i> thinks? When I don’t answer, he shakes his head. “You don’t know people as well as you think you do.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m not pretending to know anything about you,” I fire back. “I get that you must not like me or something . . .”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not like you?” he interrupts. “Jaden McEntyre, there’s not a soul at this school who doesn’t just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">adore</i> you.” He lifts his bag from the bathroom floor and slings it over his right shoulder. He can’t leave. We’ll never get anything accomplished if I let him slip past. Without a second thought, I leap in front of the door and lean against the frame, blocking him.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do you mind?”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, I do mind, actually,” I begin. “If you’re so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">miserable</i> being my partner . . . which, I might add, is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard since you don’t even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> me . . .”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His eyes narrow. “I don’t know you? Really? Jaden McEntyre. Daughter of a general contractor. Cheerleader. Human rights activist. Best friend of Savannah Wainright. Girlfriend of Blake Hanson. Volunteers for Cancer Walks. Gives blood. Raises money for the poverty-stricken children of Bangladesh. Straight A’s. Ivy League bound. The safest, most <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boring</i> person at this school.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I choke back the huff perched in my throat. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh My God. This isn’t happening to me</i>. This <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">shouldn’t</i> be happening to me. I’m supposed to be in AP English this semester. Stupid Calculus scheduling conflict. The AP classes aren’t required to do this project. I shouldn’t be in the guy’s bathroom, with its profanity-laden walls and toilet paper strewn across the floor and its mildewy, locker room smell, arguing with Parker Whalen. I should’ve been on time to English. I should’ve picked my own partner. I mean, this is what I get for saving the planet? Whatever happened to good karma? I struggle to find my voice. “Are you serious?” I finally manage.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I don’t lie,” he replies, matter of fact.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fine. That’s fine,” I sputter, working to regain my composure. “Either way, we’re partners. And we have a project to do whether you like it or not, so . . . get over yourself.” My fingers clench to fists, and my jaw smarts from the added pressure.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But instead of firing back . . . Parker smiles. I think. I mean, the corners of his mouth turn up . . . like he’s amused. Maybe it’s more of a smirk. I don’t know. I sweep a few stray hairs away from my eyes, blinking, unsure.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s pretty harsh,” he says. “Especially coming from you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s not funny. You might not want to get a good grade on this project, but I do.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The scowl returns, sharpening his features. “You’re so presumptuous. Assuming that I don’t want good grades.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Okay . . . whatever. Here’s the thing: I’m going to the library tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be there at three o’clock. I’m taking my list, and I’m choosing a book for our project. You’re welcome to join me . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Partner</i>.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I spin on my heel and storm out of the bathroom. I inhale deeply, seeking fresh air: desperate. Desperate for someone to come along and explain to me what, exactly, just happened. Desperate for someone to come along and tell me what to do about Parker Whalen, because our future together does <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> look promising. I shake my hands, trying to suppress the pent-up frustration swelling inside, and swallow back a primal scream.</span></div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-64416427044065200412011-05-04T10:55:00.004-04:002011-05-11T05:29:49.893-04:00Featured Author for May 4<h5> </h5><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><h5><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">Be sure to click on The Book Shelf Link Above to find more great books to read!</span></span></h5><h5><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: blue;">Last Week's Featured Author: </span></span></h5><h5><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: blue;">D.D. Scott,</span><span style="color: blue;"> </span></span><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">best-selling author of</span> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bootscootin-Blahniks-Books-ebook/dp/B003ZDO30W/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1300373594&sr=1-1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_0"><span style="color: #366388; font-size: small;">BOOTSCOOTIN' BLAHNIKS</span></span></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">, </span><strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stompin-Stetsons-Bootscootin-Books-ebook/dp/B004DI7N32/ref=pd_sim_kinc_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_1"><span style="color: #366388;">STOMPIN' ON STETSONS</span></span></a></strong></span><span style="font-size: small;"><strong>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Buckles-Baby-Bootscootin-Books-ebook/dp/B004NEVZ6C/ref=pd_sim_kinc_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_2"><span style="color: #366388;">BUCKLES ME BABY</span></span></a> <span style="font-size: large;">and</span></strong></span><span style="color: black; font-size: x-large;"> </span></span><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strong><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Muse-Therapy-Unleashing-Inner-ebook/dp/B004774LN4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1300373681&sr=1-1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_3"><span style="color: #366388;">MUSE THERAPY: UNLEASHING YOUR INNER SYBIL</span></span></a></strong></span></span> </h5><h5><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0VhdfuelPz0/TcFhNSB8vnI/AAAAAAAAAGY/L4nui2_nASQ/s1600/dd5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0VhdfuelPz0/TcFhNSB8vnI/AAAAAAAAAGY/L4nui2_nASQ/s320/dd5.jpg" width="256px" /></a></div><h5 align="center"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.ddscott.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Courier New;">http://www.DDScott.com</span></a></span></h5><h5><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Here is a sample of each of her books:</span></h5><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--nLx6u3doog/TcFhAcQO9aI/AAAAAAAAAGI/Ptwhqy6h40o/s1600/dd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--nLx6u3doog/TcFhAcQO9aI/AAAAAAAAAGI/Ptwhqy6h40o/s200/dd.jpg" width="133px" /></a></div><h5 style="text-align: center;">Buy it at Amazon <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bootscootin-Blahniks-Books-ebook/dp/B003ZDO30W?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Bootscootin' Blahniks (The Bootscootin' Books)</a></h5><h5 style="text-align: center;">or <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/21363?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1px" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003ZDO30W" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1px" /> for only $2.99!</h5><h5 style="text-align: center;">BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS</h5><div align="left"><strong>CHAPTER ONE</strong></div>The nanosecond the light turned green, Roxy Rae Vaughn pressed the gas pedal toward the floorboard of her Mercedes. She didn’t have time to jack around. Her boutique opened in an hour. It took twenty-two more minutes to get there, thirty-three minutes to make everything perfect before she unlocked the doors for customers, and she counted on five minutes to spare. Apparently, the driver in the beat-up pick-up truck in front of her had all kinds of time for lollygagging. But she didn’t.<br />
Taking her speed up a notch, Dipstick yelped. His pudgy Puggles body slid across the pashmina-covered leather cushion of the passenger seat then propelled off the heated lumbar rest. Not to be outdone by her litter brother, Darling whined from the backseat, followed by an odd, panic-laden pant.<br />
Roxy was a bit worried by her dogs’ unusual behavior. Normally, they were good riders. Perhaps they needed some fresh air, she thought, cracking the windows a smidgeon. She’d read, however, that too much air wasn’t good for them so they were only getting a tease of the Tennessee summer morning breeze. Something else the driver in front of her obviously wasn’t aware of. His mangy mutt, although kind of cute in a disheveled take pity on me way, had free roam of the bed of his truck. Except for what looked to be tomatoes lined-up in well-used baskets, the man’s dog owned his space.<br />
“It’s okay, Babies,” Roxy attempted to soothe Dipstick and Darling. “Mommy is right here. You two love going to work with me. What’s wrong?”<br />
In her rearview mirror, Roxy noticed Darling moving her snout in large circles followed by loud, disturbing smacks of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. And was that a bit of frothy drool forming and bubbling around her canines? What the hell was going on? <br />
Roxy stole another quick peek in the mirror then glanced back to the road in front of her in case Grandpa Jones slowed down again. Another look in the mirror revealed Darling was now anxiously pawing at the cashmere blanket covering the backseat as if trying to find a perfect spot to...<br />
Like lightening punctuating the green screen of a horror flick set, a precursor to a grotesque scene coming to life in front of the cameras, Roxy finally understood the red herring for what it was. “Oh no, Darling. Don’t do that to Mommy. We’re almost to the boutique. Please wait, Honey. Not in the car.”<br />
Roxy pounded her fist against the steering wheel, silently cursing her luck. Her determination to live and succeed in her new, classy chick-gone-country lifestyle seemed to kick her in the ass every choice she made. <br />
Darling made a larger-than-life whimper then let loose a super smoothie-sized barrage of pre and partially-digested dog treats - all over Roxy’s backseat.<br />
Between the agonizing sounds of her poor sick Puggles and the sickening stench, Roxy was thrown for a loop her stomach and nerves were at a loss to rectify. Before she could get her wits about her to deal with the current crisis, Dipstick took his turn at bat and went nuts in the front seat. He paced the floorboard. Jumped back into the seat. Then pounced into Roxy’s lap and out again, his anxiety-heavy yips and yaps turning into awful half wails, half barks before dissolving into fits of desperately pathetic growls.<br />
Keeping one hand on the wheel, Roxy reached out to comfort him. Evidently, however, Darling needed her master’s touch too. She hung her hurl-soaked muzzle over Roxy’s arm, whimpered then sneezed sending dog snot and God only knew what else blowing out her nose.<br />
Although abhorred by the residue Darling had now smeared all over her arm, Roxy’s heart filled with pity for her ill puppy and its wigged out partner in mischief. Composing her psyche for the challenge she faced, she searched the street ahead for a decent place to pull over. It appeared she’d have a good spot just up the road a tad further. Good thing she’d taken this alternate route to work. Not much traffic traveled this old road.<br />
“There there, guys. It’s okay. Hang with me just a wee bit longer and we’ll get you cleaned up,” she coached the dogs, having no unearthly clue how exactly she was going to do that. Never one for organization, she could only hope while God was hee-hawing about her predicament, he’d have the decency to pitch down a roll of paper towels or produce a magical box of tissue.<br />
Increasingly shallow pants and gross gurgles once again consumed Darling’s body. Roxy hit the panic button way ahead of her dogs. <br />
“Nooooooooooo...” Before the air even left Roxy’s lungs carrying her message through even higher octaves of a Hollywood-worthy cartoon voice-over, Darling was at it again. This time, the pup relieved her ailment - projectile style - all over the dashboard and center console. <br />
Making a decent effort to keep the foul fluid from landing on her neck, shoulders, and vintage-inspired couture t-shirt, Roxy tried to punch the brakes for an emergency exit from the roadway. Instead of a Nascar-qualifying pit stop, the heel of her Blahnik caught between the floor mat and the accelerator, forcing her car square into the rear-end of Grandpa Jones’ truck. Roxy rode out the impact in bumper car fashion as the two vehicles careened off the side of the road and came to an abrupt stop.<br />
“Damn.” She lowered her head against the wheel, forgetting to make sure none of Darling’s snacks had decided to take up residence prior to her landing. “I’m such an idiot.” <br />
In the hullabaloo of noise emanating from not only her dogs going ape-shit after the crash but Grandpa’s mutt sounding off too, Roxy wished with everything in her she was just an unwitting participant in some way too vivid nightmare. Taking a deep breath, the stench from the car filled her nostrils and brought her oh-so-back to reality.<br />
<em>Oh, God. What if the guy is hurt? Or what if his dog is too?</em> Roxy jerked her head from the wheel so fast a dizzy fog overtook her mind. She may have much more to worry about than coming up with money to fix her car and Grandpa’s truck. She could have injured him – and his dog too. <br />
She rested her head once more on the steering wheel. Images of Judy Garland lying on her bed on her way to Munchkin Land in the midst of the tornado swirled through Roxy’s mind in Technicolor splendor. She could hear the Wicked Witch taunting her and her “little dog too”. <br />
She shouldn’t have tried to save a few bucks by buying Dipstick and Darling the tractor supply store’s off-brand dog treats. Look where that had gotten her. How could such terrific ideas at the time end up going so wrong? <br />
She took a chance and looked away from the wheel at what she was convinced would be another nightmare in front of her. But she couldn’t see through the smoke rising from underneath the crumpled hood of her way-too-pricy sedan. Trying to peer through the haze, she panicked. She still couldn’t see Grandpa or his dog.<br />
A brisk tap against her driver’s side window caused Roxy’s heart to race. She was sure she’d look through the glass only to find the man and his dog dripping with blood. She shivered. She’d seen way too many scary movies with one nanny after another. <br />
Afraid to take another deep breath for fear on the inhale she’d succumb to the hurl hell surrounding her, she looked through the window.<br />
Grandpa Jones had morphed into a hunky, hot cowboy, complete with a sexy-as-all-hell square jaw. A single strand of straw precariously dangled from his sinfully ornery grin. And a lock of unruly, sandy blonde hair fell over his flirtatious, dark mocha eyes. <br />
Roxy’s insides shook, but not from fear or exasperation. Perhaps God was guffawing at her misstep. But Roxy might just have the last laugh. It seemed her luck had changed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s3TiawY3F1A/TcFhDTbD9hI/AAAAAAAAAGM/94uQLVlO_V8/s1600/dd2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s3TiawY3F1A/TcFhDTbD9hI/AAAAAAAAAGM/94uQLVlO_V8/s200/dd2.jpg" width="133px" /></a></div><br />
<h5 style="text-align: center;">Buy it on Amazon<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stompin-Stetsons-Bootscootin-Books-ebook/dp/B004DI7N32?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Stompin' on Stetsons (The Bootscootin' Books)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1px" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004DI7N32" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1px" /> </h5><h5 style="text-align: center;">or on <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/31026?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a> for only $2.99!<img alt="" border="0" height="1px" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004NEVZ6C" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1px" /></h5><h5 style="text-align: center;">STOMPIN' ON STETSONS </h5><div align="left"><strong>CHAPTER ONE</strong></div>The sweet allure of vanilla extract and cinnamon chips tickled Jules Lichtenstien’s nose. <br />
<br />
She inhaled with the gusto of a yoga master, coaxing her subterranean, larger-than-life-sustaining breath to steady her discombobulated nerves. Short of abandoning the kitchen in favor of her yoga studio, meditative breathing was her only hope of achieving a state somewhat resembling the elusion of sanity.<br />
“Push. Pull. Fold.” Chanting her pastry chef mantra, she worked her mind in place of over-working the dough. <br />
Using the heel of her hand, she pushed the dough away then back, folding it over as she pulled. With each choreographed motion, she envisioned her masseuse kneading her muscles with the same concentrated pressure. <br />
Handling the powdery ball with schooled finesse, she patted it into a ten-inch circle then reached for a cookie cutter. Pressing the cutter’s metal edges into the dough, she punched out a baker’s dozen, wishing she could separate her thoughts as easily as scones. <br />
As if her head were a gigantic tube of icing about to spurt into action, she closed her eyes, squeezing her warring thoughts into a tiny tip of reason. <br />
Placing the scones on an un-greased baking sheet, Jules relaxed her shoulders and settled into her routine. Craving nothing but culinary love in the form of a hot, gooey tea biscuit, she poured her restless energy into pastry chef mode, focusing on the confectionary magic beneath her fingertips. <br />
She brushed the scone tops with beaten egg whites and added a dusting of sugar. Sliding the sheet into the oven, she poked the arrows on the control panel keypad until the numbers ticked off second-by-second. She didn’t have the eighteen minutes it took scones to bake. But if she didn’t feed her tormented ego, along with her work plan, she’d never psych up for her meeting with Music City socialite Sienna Cruz. <br />
Pressing her thumbs into the tingling flesh at the back of her neck, Jules moved her fingers in rhythmic circles, rubbing out the pings of stress hammering the base of her skull. <br />
The renovation of the building for her new bakery and catering company was on schedule. <em>Sort of</em>. Sort of being not close to acceptable considering she’d landed the meeting with Sienna for the company’s first big catering event. She should feel great. Terrific. The Cruz gig, if successful, would go a long way toward securing the CMA Fan Fest food service contract. And that job would be Jules’ golden, candy apple. The belle of her bakery’s dough balls.<br />
Hypothetically, her double boiler should be bubbling over with good fortune. Apparently, however, hers was simmering with nothing but pessimism. Hissing streams of doubt gurgled in her stomach. Her normally confident exterior was overtaken by Mount Vesuvius proportioned, what-the-hell-were-you-thinking eruptions. <br />
She flipped on the coffee grinder, cranking the dial from medium to finely ground, counting on the robust flavor to drown out her espresso strength hesitation. With the grinder whirring down to its last, desperate chugs, she coached her inner Buddha to dig a deep refuge in the name of culinary enlightenment. <br />
Doing her best to keep her nerves as level as the quarter-cup into which she measured the ash-like grounds, Jules glanced at the clock on the oven. Quarter after nine. <em>Damn</em>. Before she could call an end to the latest in a string of exhausting days, she had to make the berry pudding and get it into the refrigerator. <br />
Where the hell was Cody with her berries?<br />
She loaded the dishwasher, trying to unload her irritation, dangling the enormity of Sienna’s wedding in front of her muses, hoping like hell they’d save her ass.<br />
Foreseeing her company’s demise at the hands of her over-zealous ambitions, she wandered the streets of self-pity-ville. Hearing the doorbell chime, she sidestepped a deep gutter of gloom in favor of the ass chewing she’d dish Cody. <br />
How was she supposed to make Sweet Destiny a success if she couldn’t count on her produce man to deliver on time? Good thing he was a terrific guy, fantastic friend and fabulous looking. Otherwise, he’d be replaced.<br />
She opened the door, her lips set to hurl him a stern warning. But once her eyes took in his sweet as maple sugar smile, her vocal chords froze stiffer than her award-winning meringue.<br />
Cody Weiss, the best fruit and vegetable man in Nashville, Tennessee, stood on her porch with a basket load of gorgeous, fresh-picked raspberries, blackberries and blueberries. <br />
Damn his perfect fruit. And damn his dreamy, Stetson-covered head. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4DLoWLIGaNc/TcFhGCqOVfI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/8Ht6cjyB54U/s1600/dd3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4DLoWLIGaNc/TcFhGCqOVfI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/8Ht6cjyB54U/s200/dd3.jpg" width="133px" /></a></div><br />
<h5 style="text-align: center;">Buy it on Amazon <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Buckles-Baby-Bootscootin-Books-ebook/dp/B004NEVZ6C?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Buckles Me Baby (The Bootscootin' Books)</a></h5><h5 style="text-align: center;">or on <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/41800?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a> for only $2.99!<img alt="" border="0" height="1px" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004NEVZ6C" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1px" /></h5><h5 style="text-align: center;">BUCKLE UP BABY </h5><div align="left"><strong>CHAPTER ONE</strong></div>Audrey Holtz opened the foil pouch and removed the test stick – the third one for the day, used exactly four hours apart for maximum accuracy. She reset the kitchen timer, no longer finding its egg shape a quirky fun, eclectic design element. Removing the cap from the stick, she latched onto the thumb grip. A tremor ricocheted through her palm to her fingertips.<br />
With the absorbent tip pointed down in her urine stream, Audrey peed the five seconds required...and only five seconds, per the instruction sheet. Replacing the cap over the wet tip containing the chemical composition of her future, she laid the stick on the bathroom countertop’s flat surface, praying her own egg hadn’t also been tipped. In two minutes, she’d know if Damian, her dream man who had no intentions of becoming a dream dad, would be tickled with relief or on his beloved tractor headed to Tijuana.<br />
The blue line appeared in the control window indicating the test had worked. Not that that was any sort of consolation. All kinds of parts were working she hadn’t planned on. To ensure her reproductive competency and sanity, she had to see the plus or minus sign one more time. <br />
Being irregular, in menstrual-speak, above and beyond her propensity for psychobabble eccentricities, was a definite detriment. How the hell was she supposed to pinpoint a pregnancy when she couldn’t pinpoint her ovulation cycle? She’d be a fertility specialist’s worst nightmare...not that that kind of expertise appeared necessary according to the results of test one and two.<br />
With the timer revealing a minute until the fate of her fertilization would show in the stick’s result area, she went over what she did know.<br />
Yes. She had the urinary frequency of a prima donna of the throne. But that could be attributed to one-too-many red eyes from her favorite coffee shop. Yes. She’d been a bit tired lately, but certainly not enough to get her down. She had too much to do to cater to fatigue. No. She hadn’t had one episode of nausea - the most valid argument against impending pregnancy. <br />
If it weren’t for her discolored areolas, she wouldn’t be peeing on sticks. They’d not only darkened around her nipples, they’d increased to an alarming diameter. And her breasts had taken on a new level of tender achiness, pain enough to send her to the pharmacy for a home pregnancy test triple pack.<br />
The test sticks, God love ‘em, were quick. Just like the directions touted, they were as easy as one-two-pee, although Audrey still held out hope that hers was the three percent not accurate. The test claimed to be more reliable the closer to P-day she was. But she had no clue when her P-day <em>should</em> have been. So she’d waited, per the testing guide, for the longest number of days she’d cycled in the last six months. <br />
When she’d read false-positives were much less common than false negatives, meaning her two-time positive results indicated she was more than likely pregnant, her hopes for error vanished.<br />
So much for the fact that the two previous plus signs were faint, ultra light shades of blue. <em>She refused to use the term ‘baby blue’</em>. The only way the pluses could appear period, pun intended, was if her body contained hCG, the hormone a developing placenta produces during pregnancy. The darker the plus sign, the higher the hCG and the further along she was. Although her pluses had been faint, the fact they were there about caused her to faint. She could be anywhere from six to twelve days pregnant, with an embryo already implanted in her uterus. <br />
Did she have an intuition she was pregnant, that “feeling” that many women say they have within moments of conception? Did she <em>think</em> she had a bun in her oven before her kitchen timer dinged and the first two blue pluses lit up the result screens? Not so much. But that changed when her areolas took on a life full of gusto.<br />
The timer went off for the last time, and Audrey meant the last time. She threw out the damn thing, convinced it was a fertility goddess instead of a baking aid. She blinked, took a deep breath, remained seated on her throne then opened her eyes to reality.<br />
Blue plus number three. <em>Shit</em>! <br />
Damian was soooo going to wish he’d kept riding his John Deere instead of her.<br />
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<h1>The #1 Amazon Bestselling Book</h1><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7hrMO3o22tw/TcFhLOS3GWI/AAAAAAAAAGU/eIZNTQEs_FM/s1600/dd4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7hrMO3o22tw/TcFhLOS3GWI/AAAAAAAAAGU/eIZNTQEs_FM/s200/dd4.jpg" width="133px" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Buy it on Amazon <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Muse-Therapy-Unleashing-Inner-ebook/dp/B004774LN4?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Muse Therapy: Unleashing Your Inner Sybil</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">or on <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/26920?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a> for only $2.99!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" height="1px" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004774LN4" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1px" /></div><h2>MUSE THERAPY: <br />
UNLEASHING YOUR INNER SYBIL</h2><h5> </h5><h5>Could you use a writer's go-to-gal for muse disorders? If so, stop looking 'cause you found her. I'm D. D. Scott, an agented, romantic comedy writer and a muse therapist in the making.</h5>In addition to the MUSE THERAPY Bestselling Book, I'm thrilled to have launched my <a href="http://www.ddscott.com/muse.html#online">Muse Therapy Online Classes and Live Workshops</a>.<br />
<br />
The sessions are proving to be a huge hit. I'm booking dates like crazy!!!<br />
<br />
So here's the scoop:<br />
<br />
<h6><a href="about:blank" id="online" name="online"></a>ONLINE CLASS/LIVE WORKSHOP DESCRIPTION:</h6><span class="brownhighlight">Muse Therapy</span> - D. D. Scott style - is all about injecting life into tired and/or stressed out muses. I'll give writers fun and fabulous tools to analyze their muses' funks, reign in their creative divas and up their page counts.<br />
<br />
Discover what makes your muses tick. What ticks them off. And what makes them dance like nobody's watching. <br />
<br />
We'll name your muses and host a very special meet-and-greet just for them, then dig deep into their psyches by examining "muse disorders" such as:<br />
<blockquote>** Unleashing Your Inner Sybil<br />
** Writing Bi-Polar: I Suck vs. I'm a Genius<br />
** What Do You Mean I'm Neurotic? No, I'm Not. Well, Not Exactly. But Okay...There Are Times When. Like You Need To Know That. Anyway, I Was Thinking, My Jeep Is Red<br />
** Rorschach For Writers: I See Dead Lines<br />
** Stimulants: When Coffee, Chocolate, and Martinis Aren't Enough</blockquote>Once we recognize, acknowledge and accept your muses' afflictions, we'll find terrific tricks and "trips" to treat our word witches.<br />
<br />
So if your muse is in need of a tune-up, grab a comfy couch or chair and put up your feet. You're in the right session. <br />
<br />
I provide Muse Therapy Online Classes for either two or four weeks and can do a Live Workshop anywhere from an hour to a full day. Just depends on how long you'd like to be in therapy. LOL!!!<br />
<br />
I'll provide fabulous hand-outs for group loop files and super-cool tchotchkes for all participants. Muse Therapy Live also has a fabulous PowerPoint presentation and hilariously productive, interactive exercises!<br />
<br />
You’ll have a terrific time conquering your creative divas and taking back the crown of your personal Muse-ville kingdom. <br />
<a href="http://www.ddscott.com/where.html#muse"><strong>Click here for dates of currently scheduled classes</strong></a><br />
<strong><a href="http://www.ddscott.com/signupform.php">Click here to sign up for Muse Therapy</a></strong><a href="http://www.ddscott.com/signupform.php"></a><br />
<br />
<h6>SPEAKER/PRESENTER BIO:</h6><em><strong>D. D. Scott is a romantic comedy author and a Writer’s Go-To-Gal for Muse Therapy, plus the #1 Amazon Bestselling Author of MUSE THERAPY: UNLEASHING YOUR INNER SYBIL and the co-founder of The Writer’s Guide to E-Publishing, your destination site for Everything E-Publishing. You can get all the scoop on her, her books, her Muse Therapy Online Classes and Live Workshops, plus juicy tidbits from her fabulous grog The Naked Hero at <a href="http://www.ddscott.com/" target="_blank">http://www.ddscott.com/</a>.</strong></em><br />
<strong><u>Full Bio</u></strong><strong>:</strong><br />
D. D. Scott’s romantic comedies are all about sexy, sassy, smart, career-driven women and the men who complete them. They're a bit chick lit with a gone-country twist. She’s agented, and her Bootscootin’ Books Series - think Sex and The City meets Urban Cowboy – debuted August 2010, on Amazon’s Kindle and at Smashwords, with <strong>BOOTSCOOTIN’ BLAHNIKS</strong>, followed by <strong>STOMPIN’ ON STETSONS</strong> (November 2010) and now <strong>BUCKLES ME BABY</strong> (February 2011).<br />
She's a member of RWA as well as RWA's Chick Lit Writers of the World, Kiss of Death, ScriptScene, ESPAN, and IRWA Chapters plus served on RWA’s History Committee for the National RWA Board. She's been a guest blogger on Romance Writers on the Journey, Inside the Writer’s Mind, Daily Dose Fantasy Romance, Romance University, Romance Lives Forever, Pink Fuzzy Slipper Writers, Lesa’s Book Critiques, Savvy Authors and Healthy Writers. She can also be spotted every Wednesday on Mount Olympus fulfilling her duties as The Naked Hero’s Hump-Day Goddess. She is linked to on Romancing the Blog and also has an <a href="http://ddscottauthor.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">active blog of her own</a> on her website at <a href="http://www.ddscott.com/" target="_blank">http://www.ddscott.com/</a>. In addition, her first RWR articles were published by RWA in the July 2010 and October 2010 issues. <br />
Also a Writer’s Go-to-Gal for Muse Therapy and now <strong>the Amazon #1 Bestselling Author of MUSE THERAPY: UNLEASHING YOUR INNER SYBIL</strong>, D. D. debuted her Muse Therapy Online Classes in 2009 and her Live Workshops in 2010. Thanks to the fabulous endorsement of Stephen Windwalker’s <strong>Kindle Nation Daily</strong>, there’s a ton more fun and fascinating MUSE THERAPY adventures in development.<br />
<br />
D. D.’s busy now preparing for the May 2011 launch of her new Cozy “Cash” Mysteries – think a very Rachel Zoe-esque Stephanie Plum wanna-be and her Charlie’s Angels Mom Squad Style sidekicks meet the new SEC’s Walker, Texas Ranger. <br />
Declaring 2011 to be “The Year of the E-Book & Cross-Pollination”, D. D. co-founded and launched <strong><a href="http://thewritersguidetoepublishing.com/" target="_blank">The Writer’s Guide to E-Publishing</a></strong>, your destination site for Everything E-Publishing. Whatever you want to know and/or cuss and discuss about E-publishing, it’s right there at The WG2E waiting for you!<br />
When she’s not writing, she’s busy luvin’ on her real-life hero “Sweet Man” and their beloved shelter-rescued dog Buckley.<br />
For updates on her books, her sexy, sassy, smart neurotic writer's life blog, and for a schedule of her appearances and Muse Therapy Sessions, visit <a href="http://www.ddscott.com/" target="_blank">her website</a>. <br />
<br />
<h4 align="center">YOU KNOW YOU NEED MUSE THERAPY WHEN...</h4><blockquote>1. Your muses aren’t ticking. They’re ticked off.<br />
<br />
2. Your muses are in a funk unable to up your page counts. They’re more like: Up Yours<br />
<br />
3. Even great sex with (insert your partner of choice here), or a new pair of shoes, or a day at the spa, or (you get the picture) can’t rein in your creative divas<br />
<br />
4. You feel the urge to sign-up for the following classes:<br />
<blockquote>** Unleashing Your Inner Sybil<br />
<br />
** Writing Bi-Polar: I Suck vs. I'm a Genius<br />
<br />
** What Do You Mean I'm Neurotic? No, I'm Not. Well, Not Exactly. But Okay...There Are Times When. Like You Need to Know That. Anyway, I Was Thinking, My Jeep Is Red<br />
<br />
** Rorschach For Writers: I See Dead Lines<br />
<br />
** Stimulants: When Coffee, Chocolate and Martinis Aren't Enough </blockquote>5. Your word witches have landed in Oz but that don’t look like no Yellow Brick Road you’re bootscootin’ on...the damn thing never ends!<br />
<br />
6. Your ass hurts, your back hurts, your head hurts, your fingers are numb, the kids/DH/dog/cat/other family pets and family members/friends/neighbors/telemarketers/reality TV stars must have your undivided attention now and they mean now...not after your “dumb” writing timer goes off an hour later. Everyone has told you your writing is a waste of time, just a “hobby” that will never “pay-off”...Maybe they’re right.<br />
<br />
7. You feel the urge to tell everyone listed in reason number six to (I’m thinking of a phrase that starts with a 4-letter word and ends with a ‘you’, ‘off’ or ‘me’) </blockquote>Do not...I repeat...do not panic. You are not alone. The writing gods and goddesses have not dumped you out of the muse chariot. Okay...so maybe they did. They can be a bit bitchy. But fear not, there’s help for you! <br />
<br />
So if your muse is in need of a tune-up, grab a comfy couch or chair and put-up your feet. You’re soon to be in the right therapy group.<br />
<br />
<strong><a href="http://www.ddscott.com/signupform.php">Sign-up for the next available Muse Therapy Online Class Session right here using this form.</a></strong> Classes will be conducted by a private Yahoo loop.<br />
<span class="brownhighlight">Available Classes:</span><br />
April 1, 2011 - April 30, 2011<br />
May 16, 2011 - May 30, 2011<br />
June 1, 2011 - June 30, 2011<br />
July 18, 2011 - July 31, 2011<br />
August 1, 2011 - August 31, 2011<br />
September 17, 2011 - September 30, 2011<br />
October 1, 2011 - October 31, 2011<br />
November 1, 2011 - November 15, 2011 <br />
<span class="brownhighlight">Cost:</span>Four-Week Classes $20 and Two-Week Classes $10<span class="brownhighlight"><br />
</span><br />
See you in therapy...<span class="brownhighlight">Muse Therapy</span> – D. D. Scott style.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_8" style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; border-bottom: medium none; cursor: hand;"><span style="color: #366388;">Romantic Comedy</span></span><span style="color: maroon;"> Author and a Writer's Go-To-Gal for Muse Therapy</span></span> <br />
<span style="color: maroon; font-family: Courier New;"><strong>Plus the Amazon #1 <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_9" style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; border-bottom: medium none; cursor: hand;"><span style="color: #366388;">Bestselling Author</span></span> of </strong></span><br />
<span style="color: maroon;"><span style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-family: Courier New;"><strong>MUSE THERAPY: UNLEASHING YOUR INNER SYBIL </strong>(Oct. 2010 <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_10" style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; border-bottom: medium none; cursor: hand;"><span style="color: #366388;">Kindle</span></span> & Smashwords)</span></span></span><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Courier New;"><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Courier New;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: magenta;"><strong>BOOTSCOOTIN' BLAHNIKS </strong>(Aug. 2010 Kindle & Smashwords)</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-family: Courier New;"><strong>STOMPIN' ON STETSONS </strong>(Nov. 2010 Kindle & Smashwords)</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-family: Courier New;"><strong>BUCKLES ME BABY </strong>(Feb. 2011 Kindle & Smashwords)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><span style="color: #366388; font-family: Courier New;"><a href="http://www.ddscott.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_11">http://www.DDScott.com</span></a></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #366388; font-family: Courier New;"><a href="http://twitter.com/ddscottromcom" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_12">http://twitter.com/ddscottromcom</span></a></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/949843.D_D_Scott" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_14"><span style="color: #366388;">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/949843.D_D_Scott</span></span></a><br />
<a href="http://thenakedhero.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_15"><span style="color: #366388;">http://thenakedhero.com</span></span></a><br />
<a href="http://thewritersguidetoepublishing.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1304519125_16"><span style="color: #366388;">http://thewritersguidetoepublishing.com/</span></span></a></h5>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-87875640766437454122011-04-26T17:53:00.001-04:002011-05-04T17:56:32.710-04:00Featured Author for April 27 <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mNUW0F2tJIc/TaWg2MwkHpI/AAAAAAAAAFA/ukqQE3tqKEA/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mNUW0F2tJIc/TaWg2MwkHpI/AAAAAAAAAFA/ukqQE3tqKEA/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" /></a><br />
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<strong><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Be sure to click on The Book Shelf Link Above to find more great books to read!</span></strong><br />
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<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><strong>Last week's Featured Author is Sarah Woodbury, author of</strong></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TRFh7Soyvbg/TXovF8o2IwI/AAAAAAAAACs/9X7FmoE_U64/s1600/pendragon-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i8="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TRFh7Soyvbg/TXovF8o2IwI/AAAAAAAAACs/9X7FmoE_U64/s1600/pendragon-4.jpg" /></a></div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;">And her newest: Daughter of Time</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P_JZUYk6S7o/Tbc46Hs8eLI/AAAAAAAAAGE/JBjWNAPhz1E/s1600/Sarah+W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i8="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P_JZUYk6S7o/Tbc46Hs8eLI/AAAAAAAAAGE/JBjWNAPhz1E/s1600/Sarah+W.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<em>The Last Pendragon: A Story of Dark Age Wale</em>s (historical fantasy) <br />
$2.99 Amazon link: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Last-Pendragon-Story-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B004HFS448/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1293676749&sr=1-1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299851975_0">HERE</span></a> At Amazon UK: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Last-Pendragon-Story-Wales-Trilogy/dp/B004HFS448/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1294613287&sr=8-1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">HERE</a> <br />
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<em><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299851975_3">Footsteps</span> in Time: A Time Travel Fantasy</em> (historical fantasy/time travel fantasy/YA) <br />
<i>After Cilmeri</i> Book One 99 cents<br />
At <a href="http://amazon.com/" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299851975_4">Amazon.com</span></a>: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Footsteps-Time-After-Cilmeri-ebook/dp/B004KAB9GU/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299851975_5">Footsteps in Time</span></a> Amazon UK: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Footsteps-in-Time-After-Cilmeri/dp/B004KAB9GU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1295813101&sr=1-1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Footsteps in Time</a><br />
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<em>Prince of Time</em> (historical fantasy/time travel fantasy/YA) <br />
<i>After Cilmeri</i> Book Two $2.99<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Daughter-Time-Romance-Cilmeri-ebook/dp/B004SQSMV6?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance (After Cilmeri)</a> or buy it at <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004SQSMV6/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=B004SQSMV6">Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance (After Cilmeri)</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B004SQSMV6">Amazon UK</a><br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">Read an Interview with Sarah on the Chair to Chair Page</span><br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">Part of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">After Cilmeri</i> Series</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 36pt;">Daughter of Time</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 18pt;">A Time Travel Romance</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 26pt;">Sarah Woodbury</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">* * * * *</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Chapter One</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Meg</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">M</span></b>y husband’s body lay cold on the table in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sheet covered all but his face, but that didn’t stop me from imagining the damage to his body—from the car accident and from wounds inflicted long before tonight.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The chill in the room seeped all the way through me, nearly as cold as the January air outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The morgue was just as I’d imagined—feared—it would be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A classroom-sized box with fluorescent lights, sanitized metal tables, sinks and counters lined against one wall, with implements whose function I didn’t want to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried not to look anywhere but at Trev, but as I began to struggle against the rushing in my ears and the narrowing of my vision, I had to glance away, my eyes skating over the rest of the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The police officer took my right elbow and spoke softly in my ear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Come sit, Mrs. Lloyd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s nothing you can do here.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I nodded, not really listening, and pulled my winter coat closer around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The officer steered me out the door and into in the hall, to an orange plastic chair next to the one in which my mother waited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the kind of hallway you could find in any public building:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>utilitarian, sterile, with off-white tile flecked with black, off-white walls, and thin, metal framed windows that wouldn’t open, holding back the weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I met my mother’s eyes and we shared a look that needed no words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">What the officer didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—were my conflicting emotions:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>horror and sadness certainly, anger, but overlying all that, relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Relief for him, having had to live for six months with increasing despair, and relief for me that he had self-medicated himself into oblivion, releasing me from living with a man I no longer loved and couldn’t like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s nothing to do with you,” Mom said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned to look at her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her face was nearly as white as her hair, but her chin jutted out as it always did when she was determined to get her point across and she thought I was being particularly stubborn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I know, Mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tears I’d controlled in the morgue finally fell, filling my eyes and seeping between my fingers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My mother’s voice came softly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He made his choice, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cariad</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even he could see that this was a better end.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I know that too.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I stand on the porch of my mother’s house, my hands on my hips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anna is napping in her room and I’ve been enjoying a quiet hour alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bright sunlight of the August afternoon heats my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shield my eyes with one hand, wondering where I left my sunglasses, as Trev parks his car and gets out, coming around the front to stand on the sidewalk, his arms calm at his sides. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I brace myself for his plea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s going to ask me to come back to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m ready to say no; strong enough now to say no as I should have been the first time he hit me.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been three months since I’ve seen him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three months which I spent reveling in my new-found independence and planning the rest of my life, and as always, thankful that I had somewhere to go—that my mother had been willing to take us in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve already started at the community college; I’m going to get myself back on track to the future I’d had before Trev had interrupted it.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I need you, Meg,” Trev says.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“No you don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or only as a punching bag.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“You don’t understand,” he says, taking a step forward.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I hold out one hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t come any further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You need to stay on the sidewalk or I’ll call the police.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He knows now that I’ll do it and takes one step back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He raises his hands, palms out, as if in supplication, except that he’s never asked me for anything in his life, never stooped to saying please.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time he does.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Please come home, Meg,” he says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m dying.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I gape at him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What?” </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“It’s the reason I’ve been unstable recently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reason I’ve lost so much weight.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“The reason for that is that you’ve stopped eating and opted only to drink straight scotch,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That or bourbon.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trev shakes his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It stops the ache,” he says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve just come from the doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He says I have a chance to live—chemotherapy and medicines that will make me even sicker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t do this alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need you.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">So I’d gone with him, out of guilt and obligation and pity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trevor Lloyd:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my husband of two years and the father of our little girl, Anna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was for her that I’d initially stayed with him, and because of her that I’d left him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Returning because he had stage-four pancreatic cancer at twenty-three may have seemed the right thing to do at the time, but it had been a mistake, one to which the bruising from the black eye he’d given me only the night before testified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How he’d even been able to stand I didn’t know, nor why I’d not been smart enough to get out of his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That had always been my problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d let him go, incapacitated as he was, strung up on who knew what cocktail of medications and alcohol, thankful that he was leaving me alone.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">And now he was dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was that my fault?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">And now he was dead and I was free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">* * * * *</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I tossed my purse on the floor of the living room, pulled off my coat, shoulders still dusted with snow from outside, and plopped myself onto the couch next to Anna and my sister, Elisa, who’d been reading her a book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elisa, two years younger than I, was home for Christmas from her freshman year in college and would soon return to school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">It was three days since Trev’s funeral; a week since he died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A week wasn’t a long time to mourn, Mom said, but I’d been feeling his loss for months already, if not years, from the first time he’d slapped me across the face and sent me spinning around the kitchen table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His death had only been the final note in a long, mournful tune.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif'; mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“A guy at the community college just asked me out on a date,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Really?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I gave Elisa a glance and a half-smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do I have three heads or something?” I said, and then confessed before she could answer, “I was just surprised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been a while since I thought about myself that way.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Since you stopped nursing and lost some weight, you look really great, actually.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">What could I do but laugh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elisa had a way of getting straight to the point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, thanks,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel more like myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like I’m waking up from a long sleep, or as if I’ve been wrapped in Styrofoam and I’ve finally broken through it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“So you really are okay?” Elisa said.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think, finally, yes.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“No more losers,” she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Any guy that you meet and start to date, you have to run through both Mom and me before you get serious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bring him home and he has to submit to twenty questions before you get any further.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“That’s pretty strict!” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What if I just want to go to a movie with him?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Nope.” Elisa shook her head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was very serious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Admittedly, she was always serious but I could tell she really meant it and it touched me.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I smiled at her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are what I want to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m so proud of you.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re the one who’s had to deal with all this stuff.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’m the one who chose the wrong dream to follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it too late for me?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Of course not!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom bustled in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re going to be fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re only twenty.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’ll be twenty-one soon.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Mom shook her head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’ve just made a small detour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, look what we got out of it!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She leaned over the back of the couch to kiss the top of Anna’s head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Cyn wired â'r pader</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Elisa and I rolled our eyes in unison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘As true as the Lord’s Prayer!’ </span>Mom <span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">had said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knew enough Welsh to get by, as she said, and she’d diligently taught it to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That just happened to be her favorite phrase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d emigrated to Pennsylvania from Wales as a girl, settling in Radnor with an aunt and uncle (long since dead).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d grown up in Cardiff, a city in south Wales, and one anglicized enough that she’d never quite become fluent in the language.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Yet, she’d found comfort in the Pennsylvania hills that reminded her of home and in the remnants of the Welsh language that she found along the Main Line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d never been back to Wales, though, and Radnor, where we still lived, was as close as she’d gotten to living in a Welsh community.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">After working for twenty years as a housekeeper, she married Evan Morgan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d been ten years older than she and delighted to find himself with a wife—and within a few years of marriage, two daughters, long after he thought himself an established bachelor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom had already been forty when they married so they hadn’t had as long as they would have liked together; she blamed my sojourn with Trev on grief at my father’s death.</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif'; mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif'; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Unfortunately, none of us knew any more Welsh than </span><span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Mom </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif'; mso-ansi-language: EN;">. . . and what had Elisa and I learned in high school?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">French</i>, and confounded our parents with our grasp of the language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting on the couch with Elisa and Anna, I recalled that I used to be good in school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A lifetime ago. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I could be again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can we go, Mommy?” Anna said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I smiled down at her and tickled her under her chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She giggled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had curly, dark hair, almost black, and her dark eyes looked at me with an intent expression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her little legs stuck straight out in front of her as she held the book on her lap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was only two and a half years old but already talking in long sentences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I was the only one who could understand what she was saying through her little two-year-old lisp, but at least she was saying it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t need her to articulate “ice cream”, however, to remember my promise.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yes,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Let’s go.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“What about dinner?” <span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Mom </span>said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stood to look at her, not wanting to argue in front of Anna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Mom </span>met my eye, and then nodded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dessert first, then dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sounds wonderful.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Thank you, <span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Mom</span>.” I leaned forward to put my arms around her plump waist and my head on her shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thank you for everything.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Dw i'n dy garu di.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I love you too.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I held out a hand to Anna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She turned over on her stomach, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the cushion, slid down from the couch, and ran to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bundled her into her coat, put her on my hip, and reached for my purse again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’ll be back.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Bye,” Elisa and <span style="font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Mom </span>said in unison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Anna waved as she always did, her little fist opening and closing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Bye.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Once in my little blue Honda, with Anna buckled into her car seat in the middle of the back seat, I allowed myself a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leaned my head against the seat rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We’ll be okay.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I buckled myself in, started the car, and headed away from my mother’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">It was only four miles to the ice cream parlor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took the turns carefully, reliving again, as I did in my dreams, what must have happened to Trev that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Halfway there, I realized we were approaching the spot where he died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been avoiding it the whole week. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I have forgotten to take a different route this time?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The intersection lay ahead of us. My stomach clenched.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I come home from my job at the library on campus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been able to put Anna in bed before I left, but as I push open the kitchen door at midnight, I can see through the space between the kitchen counter and the cupboards into the living room, which is dark except for the flickering light from the television.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There she is, lying on the couch with her eyes open, watching something that looks like Jaws 17.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I set my books on the kitchen counter and Trev twists in his armchair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has a beer in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I just stand there, staring at him, anger, recriminations, and hatred boiling up inside me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a moment when I try to stop them, knowing it’s pointless to complain, trying to make allowances for the crappy upbringing he had that led him to this moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then they spill out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Trev,” I say, trying to keep my voice down and reasonable-sounding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve asked you not to smoke in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s bad for Anna.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“It’s fucking cold out there!” he said, hitching himself higher in the chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s lost so much weight, his body doesn’t have the mass to stay fixed in the seat anymore and keeps sliding down it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ll fucking die if I go out there.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Trev,” I say again. “You’re smoking.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“And I’m fucking dying anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shit,” he says, getting angry between one instant and the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reaches beside him and throws the pillow in his chair across the room like a frisbee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hits the television, which fizzles out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve never been able to afford a better TV and in that moment, I’m glad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Trev is mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He pushes out of his chair and approaches me, taking small mincing steps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He changes his voice to something whiny and high, a supposed imitation of my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Trev,” he says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Trev don’t smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trev, you’re keeping Anna awake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She needs her sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trev, you shouldn’t be drinking while you’re on your meds.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I back away, glancing at Anna to see how she’s taking this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her eyes are closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that she really is asleep, now that the glare from the television is gone, but I don’t see how she could be.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Trev,” I say, one more time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Don’t fucking say my name!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He backhands me across the face before I can get out of the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fall against the kitchen table and onto the floor, and then crab-walk backward, hurrying before he can hit me again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stumbles forward and leans down, getting right in my face, his hand fisted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ll do what I please in my own house!”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Then he straightens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s breathing hard; this has taken more out of him than it used to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He staggers as he makes his way to the kitchen door and opens it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t say anything and neither does he as he walks away from me, into the night.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">When the police officer came to the house, he told me that Trev hadn’t braked at a stop sign where the road teed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of turning right or left as required, he’d driven straight ahead into a tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Facing that same junction, I eased up on the gas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes blurred as we approached it and I fought back the tears, wiping at my cheeks with the back of one hand while the other clenched the steering wheel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pressed the brake hard, as I knew he had not—but then . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m not stopping!</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Anna!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her name came out a shriek as the car skidded sideways on the black ice I’d not known was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swung the wheel, struggling to correct our course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I managed to alter it enough to avoid the tree on which Trev had lost his life, but slid instead toward the twenty-foot high roadcut to its left which was fronted by a shallow ditch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time hung suspended during that half second before impact, stretching before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hands whitened on the wheel, my throat tightened from unshed tears, and Anna cried in the back seat, frightened by the panic in my voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Then everything speeded up as the car slid into the cut <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and then through it.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">An abyss opened before me—a yawning blackness that gave me the same hollow rushing in my ears I’d felt in the morgue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lifetime later, we were through it or across it—whatever <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it </i>was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I registered gray-blue sky and sea before the car bounded headfirst down an incline and skidded into a marsh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It came to an abrupt halt as the world flipped forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instinctively, I threw up my hands to protect my head but the steering wheel rushed at my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tasted plastic and blood—pain, and then nothing.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">* * * * *</i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Chapter Two</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Llywelyn</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">I</span></i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">n the year of our Lord, twelve hundred, and sixty-eight.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">May God go with you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>The priest’s parting invocation for the close of evening mass echoed in my head as I took the steps two at a time up to the battlements of Castell Cricieth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Darkness was coming on and I was looking forward to seeing the sun set over the water to the southwest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say that we, the Welsh, are always caught between the mountains and the sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a day like today, with the wind whipping the sea into a froth and the snow-covered peak of Yr Wyddfa—Mt. Snowdon—towering above the castle, both tugged at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I breathed in the salty air, feeling its humid scent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In truth, I loved it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if my boots had been planted in the soil of Wales and no power in heaven or earth could move me from this spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My small corner of Europe had been threatened, encircled, and enslaved by kings of many nationalities since Caesar first crossed the channel into England over a thousand years before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout it all, we Welsh had, in turn, fought and run, thrown ourselves upon our enemies, and hidden in our mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each foreign king had eventually discovered that our resistance to his rule was as inevitable as the rain, and our place in Wales as permanent as the rock on which we stood.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">And now King Henry of England knew it too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The triumph of my ascendancy was like a fire in my belly that would not go out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every month that passed allowed me to more strongly grasp each hamlet, each pasture and village in Wales as my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">As I stood on the battlements, the wind in my hair, the words my bard had pronounced at the New Year’s feast rang again in my ears, each stanza crashing over me like the waves that hit the shore below:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There stands a lion, courageous and brave . . . Llywelyn, ruler of Wales. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Was I too proud, too full of hubris, that I heard these words in my head, long past the ending of the feast?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The sun was reddening as it lowered in the sky and I turned my back on it to look up at Yr Wyddfa, its snowy peaks now pink from the reflected light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been a sunny day, unusual for January, and this was a rare treat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was just turning to look northeast again, when a—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what is that thing!</i>—surged out of the trees that lined the edge of the marsh abutting the seashore to the west of the castle, beacons shining from the front of it, and buried itself headfirst in the marsh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Stunned, I couldn’t move at first, but the unmistakable wail of a small child, faint at this distance, rose into the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afraid now that the—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thing? chariot?—</i>would sink into the marsh before I could reach it, I ran across the battlements to the stairs, down them, out a side door of the keep, and into the bailey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spied Goronwy ap Heilin, my longtime counselor and friend, just coming into the castle from under the gatehouse and I strode toward him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“My lord!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He checked his horse, concern etched in every line of his squat body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was dressed in full armor, his torso made more bulky by its weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His helmet hid his prematurely gray hair.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I hesitated for a heartbeat and then threw myself onto the horse behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goronwy gathered his reins and chose not to argue, even though he had to know that his horse couldn’t carry the two of us for long.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“We must hurry,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Goronwy spurred his horse back the way he’d come, out the gate and down the causeway that led from the castle to the village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We trotted through the village and turned left, trying to reach the point where the vehicle had gone in. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">While Castell Cricieth itself was built on a high rock that could be reached by a narrow passage, the marsh associated with it was legendary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pathway fell off dangerously into a sucking swamp, fed by an unnamed underground stream that seeped its way to the sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d not lost anyone in it recently and didn’t want to lose anyone now, but as we came to a sudden halt along the road as it turned, I wasn’t sure what to do.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The wail of the child was more evident the closer we got, though it was no longer constant but punctuated every now and then by silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps he was tiring, too exhausted to maintain his cries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could imagine him gasping for air between breaths as a child does, especially when he is unsure if anyone is coming to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“By all that is holy!” Goronwy said, seeing the vehicle for the first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is it?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A chariot of some kind, carrying two from the looks.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had four wheels, as wagons do, two of which spun slowly, high in the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The vehicle had moved so fast and without any visible means of propulsion that I couldn’t imagine what had thrown it out of the forest and into my marsh in the first place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was coated in a sturdy material that wasn’t wood, and was, unaccountably, blue in color.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Goronwy took in the situation in a glance and gestured to the point where the chariot had driven into the marsh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“By the trees, my lord,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It looks as if the ground is more solid there.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep going.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">We continued on the road until it reached the trees and then along their edge until we stopped only a few yards from the chariot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun was nearly down now and I cursed myself for forgetting a torch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We dismounted and I took a step toward the chariot, but my foot immediately stuck a few inches into the mud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To put my weight down further would ensure the loss of my boot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Careful, my lord,” Goronwy said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I stepped back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’ll find another way.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Goronwy spied several fallen logs in the woods that edged the marsh and we lugged them towards the marsh to act as a bridge between us and the chariot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Urgency filled both of us so with me in the lead, we stepped carefully across them to the chariot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I touched one of the side walls of the vehicle, hesitant, noting that it curved away from me, smooth as the water in my washing basin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Now what?” Goronwy said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you need my help to get them out?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Goronwy was concerned because the narrow bridge we’d built was sinking into the marsh under our combined weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For us to stand together on one end might doom the both of us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I peered through the clear glass that separated me from the baby in the rear of the vehicle and from the woman in the front seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The light of the setting sun reflected off the glass and I could see fingerprints smudging the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sight struck me as so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">commonplace </i>that it gave me confidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stay where you are.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I surveyed the expanse of incredibly worked metal of which the vehicle was composed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I studied it, I realized it was not all one piece as I’d first thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been put together in sections, and then the pieces of metal attached together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, except for two black elongated objects aligned with each other half way down the sides, there was nothing to hold onto.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grasped one of them, hoping it was what it looked like:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a latch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I pulled on it and miraculously, the door to the chariot opened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to duck into the doorway since the chariot had a roof that was two feet less than my height.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl slumped over a wheel affixed to the wall in front of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pulled her back into her seat and frowned at the line of blood across her forehead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except for the one wound, I couldn’t see any other injuries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her eyes were closed, however, and she was unconscious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It surprised me, in that half a second it took to look her over, that she was an ordinary girl, admittedly dressed strangely and half my age, but there was nothing about her that told me why she would be driving this incredible chariot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">A black strap of yet another material unlike any I’d ever seen held her in her seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fumbled to find its ties, grateful for the bright light coming from the ceiling of the chariot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ready to pull my knife to cut through the straps, but almost as an after-thought, noticed the strap ended in a large red square near her waist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pressed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The strap released and the woman slumped sideways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slid my arms around her back and under her knees and pulled her to me, lifting her out of the chariot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, carefully balancing on the logs, I cat-walked back to Goronwy and transferred her to his arms.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">He had waited patiently, as if this task was the most normal thing in the world for us to be doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He held the woman, but otherwise didn’t move, since his position on the end of the log allowed me to balance near the chariot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s beautiful,” he said, checking her from head to toe as her head lolled back on his forearm. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I gave him a quelling look, though it wasn’t like I hadn’t noticed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her long hair was shot with every shade of brown imaginable and though her long lashes were down-turned in sleep so I couldn’t see her eyes, I had no difficulty imagining them gazing at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was slender as an unwed girl, but she looked so much like the girl behind her, she had to be her mother.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“So’s the little one,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I moved back to the chariot, sliding one foot forward and then the other, but as I did so, the pressure in the marsh shifted and a sucking sound pierced the silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chariot sank another foot, tipping forward so now it lay only a few degrees off vertical.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Is there time, my lord?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I will not leave that child to die,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t think the risk to me too great.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Afraid that movement near the front of the vehicle would upend it further, and at the same time worried about getting caught in the chariot’s draft if it did sink into the marsh, I pulled on the latch to the rear door, which opened just as had the door in front.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the child appeared to be in some kind of special seat designed expressly for her small size, a red circle sat in the center of her chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hoping that there was a system here, I pressed it and as in her mother’s case, the straps released.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rear wheels were so high in the air now that the opening in the vehicle was at chest height—making it easy for me to reach into the chariot, but forcing me to lift the child from her seat with only the strength in my arms.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Come, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cariad</i>,” I said.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Her eyes were wide as she reached for me, but she appeared unhurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pulled her to me and she wrapped her arms around my neck, swiveling her head to the left and right as she took in her surroundings.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“My lord.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goronwy’s voice sounded a warning behind me and I took a step back, away from the chariot, and then another, my arms clutched around the little girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The pounding of my heart at last began to slow as Goronwy and I backed off the logs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How do you want to do this?” Goronwy said, the woman still in his arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She’s not a sack of turnips, but she’s heavier than one.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I set the baby on the ground, pleased she’d stopped crying and was willing to stand sturdily on her own feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I crouched to speak to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Stand here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m going to take care of your mother.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">All I caught of the girl’s reply was one word, similar to Mam:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mammy</i>, I surmised, though I didn’t know of any children who called their mother that.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I mounted Goronwy’s horse and Goronwy passed me the woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I settled her across the horse’s withers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because the girl wore breeches, I could rest her directly in front of me, with her back leaning against my chest, and her head tucked under my chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While her clothes were entirely too provocative, in this case I was glad she was wearing them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise I would have had to cradle her in my arms or hike her skirt up past her thighs, which might provide us with a pleasant view, but was even more immodest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I wrapped one arm around her waist and grasped the reins with the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goronwy bent down for the child, who allowed him to pick her up, her little arm wrapped around his neck as she’d wrapped it around mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said something to Goronwy that I didn’t catch and he answered in an undertone.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Then I saw his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The look was one of pure panic, but he revealed a hitherto unknown adeptness with children and shifted her to his hip.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’ve got her, my lord,” Goronwy said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Though I’m not sure she understands the words we’re saying.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“She’s very young.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“She spoke to me just now in a language that was unfamiliar,” Goronwy said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I couldn’t even begin to tell you what it was.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“English?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“No,” Goronwy said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“At least no sort of English I have ever heard, even lisping from the mouth of a child.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“When her mother awakes, we’ll have some answers.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“We certainly have many questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most pointedly, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what is that vehicle?</i>”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I would add, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“How did you fall into my marsh? What are those strange materials, metal, and clothes?</i>”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Could they be English?” Goronwy said, leaping ahead to the most crucial question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He strode along beside me, he and the girl finding a rhythm to his walk as she continued to take in her surroundings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Returning crusaders have brought many new discoveries to Europe from the east.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was last at Dinas Bran, I met such a man—he opened his own tavern, of all things—who told me of a glass through which one could see far distances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I very much would like one of those.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I will look into it,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Right now, our concern is somewhat more mundane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to get these two to the castle safely tonight, but come daylight, we must return to the vehicle with the woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has much to explain, both what it is and how it works.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I directed the horse towards the causeway, aiming for the road we’d left and anxious not to stray into the bog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since Goronwy was unhorsed, I rode more slowly than I might have otherwise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was never outside the castle without my guard and felt strangely vulnerable, almost naked, without them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">We’d reached the road when Goronwy suddenly stopped and spun around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reined in, and then heard what had gained his attention:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>another sucking sound, louder than when we’d stood on the logs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if the vehicle were in a tipped up wheel barrow, sliding its cargo even deeper into the marsh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In three heartbeats, the light in the interior was extinguished, and then in a rush, as if a giant mouth had opened beneath it, the chariot disappeared.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">It was almost a prayerful moment, though my priest certainly wouldn’t have liked me saying so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goronwy, more aptly, cursed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“By the arse of King Solomon, now we’ll never discover its mysteries, beyond what the woman can tell us.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’m glad we weren’t close to it,” I said soberly, clicking my tongue to get the horse moving again.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Any delay and the woman and her child would have died,” Goronwy said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“It was only by chance that I was on the battlements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was thinking of other things and watching the colors change on Yr Wyddfa when it appeared.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Chance, my lord?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think not,” Goronwy said, but anything further he thought to say was cut off by shouting in the distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A company of my men galloped out of the village and into view.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Prince Llywelyn!” One of my captains, Hywel ap Rhys, called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another soldier held a torch in his hand as they trotted up to me, eyes widening at the girls in our arms.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“All is well.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I held up a hand to my men and Hywel closed his mouth on his questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of my men knew better than to disobey, but there would be no stopping some of them later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hywel himself was a son of a noble house and believed himself all but my equal, though I was a prince and he a mere baron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many times, I cursed the independence of the Welsh nobles, even the ones who fought by my side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially the ones who fought by my side.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The men fell into formation around us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We certainly formed a strange company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goronwy and the girl continued whispering to each other and finally Goronwy spoke up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I believe her name is Anna.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“You believe?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Well, it still isn’t clear what language she’s speaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She appears to understand bits of what I’m saying, but I understand nothing of her words except ‘Anna.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have reassured her, to the best of my ability, that her mother will be well.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">We filed through the village, quiet now that it was full-dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few heads poked out of doorways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hywel nodded at the blacksmith, who stood under the eave of his shop to watch us pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We trooped up the hill to the castle and along its circuitous road to the gatehouse. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The bailey, once we reached it, was in turmoil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You surprised us all, my lord,” Hywel said as he dismounted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was tall, even for a Welshman, with the biggest feet any of us had ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the moment he joined the company we’d called him Boots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half the men had probably forgotten his real name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">He reached for the woman, whom I allowed to slide off the horse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was more than capable of bearing her weight, but when I got down myself, I quite deliberately took her back from him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">As we’d ridden up the road, I found myself going over the sudden arrival of the girl and her child in my head, and agreeing with Goronwy that what others ascribed to chance, I was willing to view as a gift from God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or the devil, I supposed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t something I would ever mention, not even to my closest advisors, but in the thick of the moment it wasn’t always easy to tell the difference between the two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">All I knew was that I didn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">want</i> to let her go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The feeling was a new one, and yet, I’d learned to trust my instincts and knew myself well enough by now not to fight them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d had many women over the years—more than I could count, truth be told, which I’m sure had kept my confessor busier than he’d liked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’d not welcomed one into my bed in several months and hadn’t truly cared for any woman for much longer than that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d attributed my disinterest to my advanced age—and a natural evolution toward more circumspect and judicious taste<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">With the girl in my arms, I strode toward the inner bailey which housed my private apartments, my men parting before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Goronwy matched his steps to mine as we entered the great hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tudur ap Ednyfed Fychan, my steward, stepped toward me and bowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Shall I have a room prepared for her, my lord?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“No,” I said, hearing the flatness in my voice and knowing he would obey it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She stays with me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">* * * * *</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Chapter Three</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Meg</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">I</span></b> opened my eyes to a candle, guttering in a pottery dish on a small wooden table beside the bed on which I lay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took only half a second for me to register that all was not as it should be.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh, my God</i>!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reared up from the pillow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man sat in a chair by the fire, reading a book the size of a coffee table dictionary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked up and smiled, and the smile was so disarming I just gaped at him, mouth open, knowing that nothing about him or the room was right, but unable to articulate why it wasn’t.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The room was built on a grand scale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A long table surrounded by chairs sat near a closed door, twenty feet from the foot of the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bed itself was a massive four-poster, with thick, crimson hangings all around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only one side was open—the side on which I lay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">The floor was comprised of wooden slats set tightly together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than polished, it was faded and worn with what could only have been years of use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>I took it all in, flicking my eyes from one item to the next, before returning them to the man in the chair.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">He shifted and then stood to walk to a bookshelf on the other side of the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He laid the book flat on top of several others, taking a moment to align them neatly one with another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While his back was turned, I looked around the bed, more panicked than ever because I realized that I was wearing nothing but a nightgown—and a gorgeous one at that, with embroidered lace and puffy sleeves; that my clothes were gone and my hair was braided in a long plait down my back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">By the time he turned back to me and spoke, I’d scooted up the bed until I was sitting upright, the covers pulled to my chin.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';"> . . .” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I had no idea what he’d said<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Confused because his words were completely unintelligible, even as they tugged at my ear with familiar tones, I didn’t move or saying anything, just stared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tried again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shook my head, uncertain.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">He stayed relaxed, his hands at his sides and walked toward me, speaking a little louder, as if somehow that would help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was desperately trying to make sense of what he was saying, but as he got closer, my breath rose in my chest until it choked me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He must have seen the fear on my face because he stopped, about three feet from the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finally found my voice.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“What?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The words came out as little more than a squeak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who are you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dragged my eyes from his and flashed them around the room again, seeking somewhere to run but not seeing anything but the long distance to the door and the man standing between it and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t answer my question but again tried one of his own.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Beth ydy'ch enw chi</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">?” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">“Meg <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dw i</i>,” I said, then gasped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d answered automatically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What is your name?’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>he’d said in Welsh<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘My name is Meg.’</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">I stilled myself and studied him as he stood, still calm, two paces from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had what he’d spoken before been in Welsh that I hadn’t understood, perhaps too fast, and too complicated compared to what I’d learned from Mom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through my foggy brain, I focused with an effort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who is he?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He still hadn’t told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">He was a large man in his late thirties, thin but muscled, nearly a foot taller than I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wore a cream-colored shirt with a dark blue jacket, brown pants, and brown leather boots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a long nose and black hair, close in color to Anna’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anna!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Fear rose in me again and twisted to see if she was on the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">“She’s asleep by the fire,” the man said, reading my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He followed this statement by more unintelligible words, except for, “You say, ‘Meg’, but you mean, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Marged</i>?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">I nodded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marged was my formal name, though I never used it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now more afraid for Anna than afraid of him, I swung my legs to the floor and ran to where he pointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anna was indeed asleep in a cradle set against the far wall, with large rockers on the bottom to keep a child asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Someone had changed her clothes too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wore a white nightgown that was a match to mine and was covered by a brown woolen blanket that was incredibly soft to the touch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though my arms ached to hold her, I was afraid to pick her up in case I needed two hands to fend off the man, and was loathe to wake her needlessly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I stroked the hair away from her face.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">I sat back on my heels, still watching her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I settled there, my surroundings seeped into my consciousness more clearly:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the tapestries on the walls; the handmade chair and table between the bed and the fire; the clothes we wore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All forced me to face the no longer ignorable questions:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where am I?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is this place?</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">“Who are you?” I asked again in English, and at the man’s look of puzzlement, repeated his words back to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">Beth ydy'ch enw chi</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Welsh Welsh SILDoulosL','serif';">?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, Tywysog o Cymry,” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Both hands flew to my mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, Prince of Wales</i>, he’d said.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Every Welsh child ever born had been told stories of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, the last Prince of Wales, a man who’d died on a cold, snowy day in history, lured away from his companions by the treacherous English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why was he telling me he was a thirteenth century Prince of Wales?<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I glanced around the room again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had he constructed a thirteenth century house to go with his fantasies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why had he brought Anna and me here?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“You can’t be.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dropped my hands to my lap as reason reasserted itself in my brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Englisch?</i>”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His face suddenly reddened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took a step towards me but I hurried to forestall him, leaning forward with one hand on the floor and the other held out to stop him.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“No!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No!” I said, then switched to Welsh at his fierce expression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Na! Na! <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Os gwelwch yn<b> </b>dda!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please, no!</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Llywelyn stopped and I took in a shaky breath, the fear of before filling me more than ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew enough of violent men to see it in him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart raced, but he studied me, not raising his hand or making any more threatening gestures, and gradually it slowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I glanced at Anna, unsure if I should pick her up to keep her safe, or if it would just draw his attention to her and put us both at risk. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I dropped my hand, eased back onto my heels, and let out a steadying breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn took his chair, both of us more composed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My plea had diffused whatever emotion had been about to explode in the room, and for the first time I was glad I’d had Trev to deal with all those years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At times, I’d been able to say the right thing to calm him down, and weeks where I’d managed to tiptoe around him without upsetting him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Unfortunately, there’d also been those days when Trev hadn’t listened whether or not I’d held silent or begged him to stop, allowing his own inner demons to overcome him without regard to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, with Llywelyn settled, I wanted to ask him more about where I was, but didn’t know how to begin, and was afraid to set him off again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a way, the fact that he was pretending to be a centuries dead Welsh prince didn’t even matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could think he was a purple hippopotamus for all I cared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just wanted to get out of the room in one piece.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Llywelyn, perhaps trying to be helpful, tried again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Français</i>?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Relief flooded through me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oui!”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he refused to speak English and I didn’t know enough Welsh, at least we could communicate in some fashion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It struck me that his fantasy was remarkably consistent, in that the historical Llywelyn would also have spoken French since it was the primary language of the English court in the thirteenth century, as well as the French one.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Llywelyn smiled too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You may not remember,” he said, now in strangely accented but intelligible (to me) French, “but your chariot ran aground in the marsh below the castle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moments after I retrieved you from the wreckage, it sank and disappeared.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“Marsh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Castle?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A befuddled fog rose again to drive away my moment of clarity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was driving my car to buy ice cream . . .” I stopped at the look Llywelyn wore on his face—a look that said, ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your what to buy what?’ </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“My vehicle,” I amended, hoping that the word existed in medieval French.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Llywelyn stood abruptly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I won’t question you more tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You must be hungry.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He strode to the door, opened it, poked his head out, and waved one hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Immediately, a man hurried into the doorway and saluted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mau Rhi?”</i> the man said. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My lord?</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Llywelyn spoke words I couldn’t understand, but I was only listening with half an ear anyway because this time I was staring at the man who’d just appeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wore mail armor, the little links catching the light with every shift of his body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over that, a white tunic adorned by three red lions decorated his chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wore no helmet, and like Llywelyn, was clean shaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d clearly bought into—or was humoring—Llywelyn’s delusions.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I crouched next to Anna’s bed, uncertain what to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t look like the door would get me very far, not with a guard outside it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I checked the room for windows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had two, both covered with wooden shutters, though a light flashed every now and then through the chinks between the wood and the frame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In watching for it, I missed the rest of the men’s conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn shut the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He returned to his chair, but not before gesturing to me to sit again on the bed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“You must be tired,” he said, back to French.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You can eat and it will make you feel better.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I couldn’t bear to just obey him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I looked at my baby Anna, still sleeping, and didn’t dare disobey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She lay quiet and desperately beautiful, a hostage to my good behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not knowing what else to do, I stood and walked past him to the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I sat on its edge, more awkward than ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither of us spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smoothed my nightgown over my thighs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even as I shivered, my palms sweated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reached behind me to tug at one of the blankets, wanting more warmth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn leaned forward to pull the blanket over my shoulders, before settling back in his chair with a nod.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“I’ll stoke the fire again before we sleep,” he said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">A sickening lump formed in my stomach and it wasn’t because I was hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A rushing in my ears threatened to overwhelm me and all I could think was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">oh my God; oh my God; oh my God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>My worst fears were abruptly out in the open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could only gape at Llywelyn without trying to contradict him, as if my mind had gotten hung up in overdrive and was revving with the clutch out and nowhere to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seemed so utterly unconcerned, sitting as he was with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, his hands folded across his chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was I going to do?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The soldier from the hallway returned with food and drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stared at him blindly while Llywelyn indicated that he should set the tray on the table beside the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn moved the candle to the mantelpiece above the fire to give him room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">When the man left, Llywelyn gestured to the food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It isn’t much, but should tide us over until morning.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I nodded, stone-faced, the lump in my throat preventing me from speaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn poured two glasses of wine from the carafe and handed one to me before taking the second for himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want to drink it, not only because I was afraid to take anything from him, but because I normally didn’t drink wine at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had never seemed like a good idea with Trev around—either because it would tempt him or because I didn’t dare lose control over myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also wouldn’t be twenty-one until April.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I took the cup but simply sat on the bed with it in my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn raised his eyebrows at me then lifted the cup as if in a toast and took a sip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There’s no poison in it, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Under his curious gaze, I didn’t dare refuse it any longer, even as I cursed myself for being so passive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a sip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It tasted bitter on my tongue—far more than the cheap, sweet wine Mom usually drank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I set the cup on the table and Llywelyn handed me a hunk of cheese and bread he’d cut with his belt knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drank and ate while Llywelyn watched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seemed so <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">believable</i> in his stillness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took the moment when my mouth was full of food to begin asking the questions he’d said he wouldn’t earlier.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Who’s Anna’s father?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I took a swig of wine and swallowed hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s dead,” I said, glad that in this at least I could tell the truth.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn nodded, accepting my words at face value.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And your father?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“He’s dead too,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn made a ‘tsk’ noise through his teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was asking their names.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t respond and he began work on cutting up a small apple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My man included the apple only after I told him that you possessed all your teeth.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">His words were so incongruous to the fear I’d been feeling, I choked on the next sip and barely stopped myself from spewing the wine across the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I coughed and then found hysterical laughter bubbling up in my throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could barely see him through streaming eyes as I fought it back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His mouth quirked as he started to smile too, though I didn’t think he knew he’d made a joke at first—it probably hadn’t been a joke to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he laughed outright.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I took his half-second of inattention to lunge for the knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I rammed my shoulder into his arm and overbalanced him, getting my hand on his knife as he released it in surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had intended to take the knife from him and hold him off with it, but instead, he spun with me, grabbing my arm as he went down and pulling me off balance too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fell sideways, stunning myself by landing hard on my left hip and then clonking my head on the floor, my legs tangled up in my long nightgown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn recovered more quickly than I and threw himself on top of me, pinioning each of my wrists to the floor with his big hands, the knife skittering away from me into a corner of the room.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loomed over me, his nose only inches from mine and the full weight of his body resting on my torso, holding me down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who sent you?” he hissed into my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What devil’s bargain did you make?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I stared up at him, my vision blurring from the pain in my head as the ache from before roared back and darkened my vision around the edges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew what was going to happen next because it had happened once with Trev.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only once, and then I’d taken Anna and left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Please, don’t hurt me,” I said, my voice little more than a whisper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I just want to go home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother will be worried about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t going to use the knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wouldn’t even know how.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn studied me, the urgency in his eyes lessening, though he didn’t loosen his grip on me at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tears welled in my eyes and trickled down the side of my face to get lost in my hair, much of which had come loose from its braid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though his eyes never left mine, he eased away, got to his feet, and retrieved the knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He straightened his chair and sat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When his weight came off me, I rolled onto my side, curling my knees up to my chest and pressing my face into the cool of the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn sighed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Did you think I would force you?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yes.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I lifted my head to look into his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rubbed his eyes with his fingers and then rested his elbows on his knees and put his chin in his hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m too old for this,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Then he stood suddenly and took one stride toward me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost managed to hold in a shriek before he crouched beside me, got one arm under my neck and the other under my knees, and hoisted me in his arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He brought me over to the bed and dropped me, unceremoniously, onto the spot I’d been before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’ve never taken a woman against her will and I don’t intend to start with you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He grunted as he straightened the pillow under my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and threw it over me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I curled up, cradling my head in my hands. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been so sure he would hurt me and that I wouldn’t be able to stop him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was having a hard time understanding he was leaving me unharmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Where’s your mother?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn demanded, his feet spread wide, hands on his hips.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“R-r-r-radnor,” I said.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn’s eyes narrowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s days away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did you plan on getting there?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I . . .” I couldn’t continue, at a loss for an answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn tipped his head to one side and relaxed his arms, letting them fall loose at his sides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where did you come from, Marged?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">It seemed like he wasn’t asking for the town I lived in, or how far I’d driven today, but something else entirely; something to which I had no more answers than he did.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I shook my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nothing is clear to me right now.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’m not surprised,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How’s your head?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s twice you’ve cracked it today.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I put my hand to my forehead where it ached, feeling a large bump where my hairline started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It hurts to touch, and I have a bit of a headache.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I asked also for willow bark to mix with your wine,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took a twist of cloth that I hadn’t noticed on the tray, and dumped it into my cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t seem possible, but it appeared as if he thought it was possible to return to a time before I attacked him, to normal interaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight making it sag, and I rolled onto my back to counter it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, Llywelyn hooked his arm around my neck but this time he lifted me so I could sip the wine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked into the deep red liquid with little bits of bark floating in it, not liking the idea of drinking something so unfamiliar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As before, however, his will was impossible to defy and I didn’t feel I had choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“You must sleep,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We’ll talk more in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swear to you that I will not hurt you.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I gazed up at him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, I believed him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry about the knife.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn gave me a hard look but I was too tired to think about what he might mean by it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom and Elisa definitely wouldn’t have approved of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elisa had already given me a lecture about bringing a guy home <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">before</i> I went out with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would she call this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A date?<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Not exactly<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my head hurt so badly I couldn’t keep my eyes open and I couldn’t fight him anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even Elisa would have to agree that whatever Llywelyn was, he was unexpected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">He picked up the blanket that I’d dropped to the floor when I’d gone for the knife and tucked it around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Sleep,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I closed my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then I opened them again when I realized there was no way I was going to be able to sleep with Anna on the other side of the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn watched me, his hands on his hips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of bed again, I hurried to where Anna lay and crouched to grasp the rockers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With gentle tugs, I got her bed moving across the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Marged,” Llywelyn said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Don’t do that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His voice held a definite exasperation this time, but still, he nudged me aside and bent to the cradle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a slight exhale of air, he lifted the trundle bed, his arms under the rockers, and carried it across the room.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Please put it there,” I said, pointing to a spot on the floor beside the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He set the cradle down and I climbed back under the covers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reached out and found that the tips of my fingers could just touch the rail of her bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rocked her gently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anna sighed and rolled onto her side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked up at Llywelyn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thank you.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">He canted his head in acknowledgement, and despite my fears and uncertainties, I finally closed my eyes and slept.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">* * * * *</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I must speak with the Prince!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I swam awake, fighting through a strange fog of half-remembered dreams and conversation from the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone was pounding on the bedroom door and shouting in a confused mix of French and Welsh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, at least confused to me since I couldn’t make out every word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The intent, however, was clear.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Abruptly, the pounding stopped and a stern voice cut through the commotion on the other side of the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Prince is . . . busy.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Stand aside!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must speak with him!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wake him for me!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“My brother, Dafydd, is a bit intemperate.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My breath froze in my lungs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned my head and found myself looking into Llywelyn’s face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was lying on the bed—and admittedly it was a big bed because he was at least three feet away—with his elbow on his pillow and his head propped up on one hand, looking at me, clear amusement in his eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had an almost impish expression on his face that told me he was enjoying himself enormously.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“What’s happening?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“It seems my brother seeks an audience with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose I ought to let him in before he wakes Anna.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn’s chest was bare and as he threw back the cover, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I sure hope he has something on his lower half</i>! had barely passed through my head before he straightened, wearing—</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh dear God! Absolutely nothing!</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I must have squeaked because Llywelyn shot me a look of amused condescension.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reached for his breeches, which he’d left at the foot of the bed, and pulled them on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t medieval people wear underwear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if they didn’t, did he have to make this whole thing so authentic?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Stirrings and bangs came from the other side of the curtain and then Llywelyn appeared on my side of the bed, fully dressed, his finger to his lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tugged the curtain closed so it hid me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He left a little gap, however and through it, I could see Llywelyn stride to the door and open it to reveal an agitated man, his hair flattened to his head and his helmet under his arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite that, he was extraordinarily handsome, younger than Llywelyn, shorter and not as lean.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“My lord,” the man said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Brother.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He bowed his head.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“What is it, Dafydd?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn said, in French. “I was sleeping.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The man dismissed his words with a shake of his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve already breakfasted.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Good for you,” Llywelyn said, his voice dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Not all of us are lay-a-beds,” Dafydd said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was so patently unfair I wondered that Llywelyn didn’t correct his brother, but he didn’t, just let the silence drag out until Dafydd filled it with his news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Clare is on the move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knows that Gruffydd ap Rhys has returned from Ireland with your support, and that you have plans to give Senghenydd to him, along with Castell Morgraig.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clare has begun work on a new castle at Caerphilly.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Damn the man!” Llywelyn said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That is my land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knows this will bring me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doesn’t he care?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Perhaps that’s his plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps he intends to thwart you with open battle or with treachery.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn eyed his brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thank you, Dafydd, for your news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I submit it could have waited until I was awake.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yes, brother,” he said, “but then I wouldn’t have had the chance to glimpse your lovely new lady.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His eyes met mine through the gap in the curtain and he smirked.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“She’s mine, Dafydd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do not forget it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Yes, brother.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dafydd stepped back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Llywelyn shot a glance at me and then followed Dafydd into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I lay there, feeling alternately horrified, sick, extremely vulnerable, and then angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why was this happening to me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who were these lunatics and what were they going to do next?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The door opened and Llywelyn stalked back into the room, headed towards me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He jerked open the curtain and leaned forward, his fists resting on the bed on either side of my hips, his face only inches from mine, just as we’d been the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, while he looked just as fierce, his eyes had a glint of something else—amusement again perhaps, or mischief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I must meet with my counselors,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A maid will come with clothes for you and Anna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I journey south within the next two days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You must prepare, for I intend to take you with me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“South?” I asked, feeling stupid again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Llywelyn didn’t answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, he threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of my head, lifted me up and kissed me, hard, before letting me fall back onto the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Remember what I told my brother.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Speechless again, all I could do was watch him go.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-46082472691784502802011-04-20T12:17:00.007-04:002011-05-02T12:54:40.036-04:00Featured Author for April 20 <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mNUW0F2tJIc/TaWg2MwkHpI/AAAAAAAAAFA/ukqQE3tqKEA/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mNUW0F2tJIc/TaWg2MwkHpI/AAAAAAAAAFA/ukqQE3tqKEA/s1600/cozy+framed.jpg" /></a><br />
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<strong><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Be sure to click on The Book Shelf to find great reads!</span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><strong>Featured Author is Julie Christensen author of "Searching for Meredith Love" and "The Truth About Dating"</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><strong>See Featured Author Page for a free sample of "The Truth About Dating"</strong></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ReFZaY1DBq0/Ta8Hc__I1aI/AAAAAAAAAFk/3pApmWrRa-0/s1600/Julie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" i8="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ReFZaY1DBq0/Ta8Hc__I1aI/AAAAAAAAAFk/3pApmWrRa-0/s200/Julie.jpg" width="200px" /></a></div> <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TwdI-UxAvRk/Ta8Hfvfx2yI/AAAAAAAAAFo/GbsHc-L1hCY/s1600/Julie2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" i8="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TwdI-UxAvRk/Ta8Hfvfx2yI/AAAAAAAAAFo/GbsHc-L1hCY/s200/Julie2.jpg" width="200px" /></a><br />
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<strong><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0045U9RJQ/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399349&creativeASIN=B0045U9RJQ">The Truth About Dating</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B0045U9RJQ&camp=217145&creative=399349">The Truth About Dating</a> <<< Buy it on Amazon or</span></strong><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0045U9RJQ/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=B0045U9RJQ">The Truth About Dating</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B0045U9RJQ"><span style="font-size: large;">Amazon UK</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> or </span><a href="http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940011913051&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FThe-Truth-About-Dating%2FJulie-Christensen%2Fe%2F2940011913051&usg=AFHzDLv_uZfFBGbdVEF6XBIwqH5XFrewiw&pubid=21000000000353156"><span style="font-size: large;">Nook</span></a></span></strong><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;">Lifelong introvert Quinn Malone was sick of spending her evenings at home, doing crossword puzzles and watching Jersey Shore. Successful, smart, and funny, 38-year old Quinn embarks on a quest to find a man, using blind dates, speed, and internet dating to get things moving. <br />
Quinn overcomes her shyness to suffer through dates that are so bad, they’re funny (see the chapter on hunchbacks). With the help of good friends, she successfully transitions through the seven stages of dating: excitement (I’ve still got it!); infatuation (he makes me feel beautiful); disappointment (he looks nothing like his online photo); anger (why is he online if he’s married?); fatigue (I can’t bear the thought of another date); depression (I’m going to grow old and die alone); and acceptance (dating: it is what it is). Through the triumphs and heartbreaks of dating, and of life in general, Quinn uncovers the resilient, dynamic person she’s always been. The question is, has Mr. Right been waiting in the wings all along?<br />
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The Truth About Dating is approximately 122,000 words. </span><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004E3XUD8/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399349&creativeASIN=B004E3XUD8">Searching for Meredith Love</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B004E3XUD8&camp=217145&creative=399349"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Searaching for Meredith Love</strong></span></a><span style="font-size: large;"><strong> <<<Buy it on Amazon or </strong></span><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004E3XUD8/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=B004E3XUD8">Searching for Meredith Love</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B004E3XUD8"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Amazon UK</strong></span></a><span style="font-size: large;"><strong> or </strong></span><a href="http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012734754&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FSearching-For-Meredith-Love%2FJulie-Christensen%2Fe%2F2940012734754&usg=AFHzDLsIY_-_RcmeCT8qORIEw87uZ3DOfw&pubid=21000000000353156"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Nook</strong></span></a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Meredith Love thought her life was just fine. Fresh out of graduate school, she had a shiny new job in the medical office where she used to be a secretary. Sure, she didn’t really like all her co-workers, and yes, her bosses still asked her to drop everything to send a fax. And, okay, she had an irritatingly successful best friend who was always telling Meredith that her life sucked. But Meredith was content with her quiet life in Albuquerque, New Mexico. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then Ben Abel, second-year medical resident, appears on the scene, and Meredith realizes how miserable her life is and what happiness could be. Suddenly, her life looks as bad as her best friend always said and it's getting worse by the minute. Now Meredith is going to have to stand up and fight for the life she wants instead of the life she's got. And even if she succeeds, a secret from her past could ruin everything.</span><br />
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</div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-13106696923594096012011-04-13T10:16:00.006-04:002011-04-26T13:58:00.554-04:00Last Week's Featured Author: Faith Mortimer<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><strong>Last week's Featured Author is Faith Mortimer</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><strong>See Featured Author Page for a free sample of "The Crossing"</strong></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x6YwXR0jSEM/TaWuu0Gi2FI/AAAAAAAAAFE/Q_kXiADFuhY/s1600/Crossing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x6YwXR0jSEM/TaWuu0Gi2FI/AAAAAAAAAFE/Q_kXiADFuhY/s320/Crossing.jpg" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: blue;">Buy it on <a href="http://amzn.to/g7TL00">Amazon</a> for $3.99 or <a href="http://amzn.to/ebjTIO">Amazon UK</a></span></strong></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<div class="productDescriptionWrapper">A successful businessman, Richard William Barker has accomplished much in life. Together with his wife, Connie, he was about to embark on a long-dreamed-of sailing adventure. Little did he know that his dream was to become his nightmare.<br />
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In The Crossing, the reader is taken on this action-packed, fateful voyage and through a twist of fate is transported back to the Second World War where Richard's late father, Billy Barker, a naval rating assigned as crew on a Motor Torpedo Boat, is captured by the enemy during a daring action off the French coast. His story of survival and friendship against all odds contrasts with his own burgeoning love for a pretty English girl, and leads Richard to begin his own recovery and understand that life must go on.<br />
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Based on a true incident, this powerfully emotive tale of passion and love across two generations in the parallel settings of modern day action and the horrors of war makes an utterly compelling read with a refreshing and very different approach to subjects which are normally the preserve of male authors. <br />
<div class="emptyClear"></div></div><h3 class="productDescriptionSource">About the Author</h3><div class="productDescriptionWrapper">Faith Mortimer was born in Manchester and educated in Malaya, Singapore and Hampshire. After training to become a nurse she switched careers and became involved in setting up and running various travel and sport realted companies. On completion of Yachtsman examinations and a science degree she and her husband sailed their yacht across the Atlantic and enjoyed many years exploring the seas. They now divide their time living in the UK and Cyprus. The Crossing is her first novel and she is currently working on her second. </div><div class="productDescriptionWrapper"><br />
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</div><div class="productDescriptionWrapper"><strong><span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Find more books on The Book Shelf! </span></strong></div><div class="productDescriptionWrapper"><br />
</div><div class="productDescriptionWrapper"> </div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-30254394827340906592011-03-22T21:14:00.022-04:002011-04-26T14:01:39.473-04:00Former Featured Authors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><strong><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Featured Author Talia Jager</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">(see Featured Author Page for a free sample of her books)</span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003X4M6R0/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B003X4M6R0%22%3eDamaged:%20Natalie's%20Story%3c/a%3e%3cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B003X4M6R0"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">Damaged: Natalie's Story</span></a><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"> $2.99 Kindle Edition or Buy it on </span><a href="http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012106575&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FDamaged%2FTalia-Jager%2Fe%2F2940012106575&usg=AFHzDLuh6SlPdXAgSOGCXwH9l5J0QGkpCw&pubid=21000000000353156"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">Nook</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: magenta;">Children's Fiction/Family Relationships/Love & Romance/Social Issues</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Natalie Jarrett is a seventeen-year-old girl who falls in love with the wrong boy. When she finds herself in the hospital after one of his violent attacks, she can no longer turn a blind eye. Suffering from severe injuries, her doctor tells her she will never be the same again. Although injured and feeling guilty, alone, scared and most of all, damaged, everyone seems to expect her to return quickly to her normal life – but how can she bounce back when she blames herself for all that’s gone wrong?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">This book previously published under the title Natalie's Story. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><strong>Featured Author Lia Fairchild</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><strong>(see Featured Author Page for a free sample of In Search of Lucy)</strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004O6MV0S&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/In-Search-of-Lucy-ebook/dp/B004O6MV0S?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">In Search of Lucy</span></a><span style="color: black; font-size: small;"> $2.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1px" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004O6MV0S" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1px" /><span style="color: blue;"> </span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012256379&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FIn-Search-of-Lucy%2FLia-Fairchild%2Fe%2F2940012256379&usg=AFHzDLue8sr5sYuWLWyjTs4J4wppAl52WQ&pubid=21000000000353156">In Search of Lucy</a>"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">Nook</span></a><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;"> </span><a href="http://bit.ly/geajox"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">fReado</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">by <span jquery1299770933777="71"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299770933777="70"><a asin="B004OUENSWB004O6MV0S" href="http://www.amazon.com/Lia-Fairchild/e/B004OUENSW/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004OUENSWB004O6MV0S" jquery1299770933777="29">Lia Fairchild</a><a asin="B004OUENSWB004O6MV0S" href="http://www.amazon.com/In-Search-of-Lucy-ebook/dp/B004O6MV0S/ref=sr_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1297987629&sr=1-8#" jquery1299770933777="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"><span jquery1299770933777="71"><span style="font-size: small;">Fiction/Parents & Family/Contemporary Fiction</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
<span style="color: black;"></span></span><span style="color: red;">Read Lia's interview on the Chair to Chair Page </span></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span jquery1299770933777="71" style="color: black; font-size: small;">Thirty-year-old Lucy Lang is lost. She spent most of her young life sacrificing her own needs to care for her half-sister and deal with their alcoholic mother. Now abandoned by both of them, Lucy struggles to find her own purpose in life. A struggle that is laden with wretched memories and regret. With no family, no relationships and an unfulfilling job Lucy becomes depressed, cynical and self-destructive. At times she’d even contemplated suicide as the only way out. <br />
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When she is just about to hit rock bottom, Lucy finds out that her sister is ill and needs a kidney transplant. Lucy is found to be the only match, and has no choice but to live. Now, Lucy is trapped in a lonely existence to save her sister’s life. And, she must battle with her emotions; her bitter resentment for her sister’s heartless departure and her longing to be needed again and take care of the person she once loved most in the world. With the help of new found friends, Benny and Anne, and a possible romance, Lucy sets out on a journey that will reunite her with her sister as well as herself. In the end, Lucy just might discover the answers she needs to find happiness and her own purpose in life.<br />
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With simply genuine and endearing characters, In Search of Lucy transports every reader right into the story. This contemporary novel about the power of relationships and how they affect our identity will appeal to anyone that has ever experienced loss and love.</span></span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">(see Featured Author Page for a free sample of Roll of the Die)</span></strong><br />
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<span jquery1299858543753="82"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299858543753="81"><a asin="B004PBZRQ2B004OYT8MO" href="http://www.amazon.com/Sean-Bridges/e/B004PBZRQ2/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004PBZRQ2B004OYT8MO" jquery1299858543753="46"><span style="color: #003399;">Sean Bridges</span></a><a asin="B004PBZRQ2B004OYT8MO" href="http://www.amazon.com/ROLL-OF-THE-DIE-ebook/dp/B004OYT8MO/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299858529&sr=1-1#" jquery1299858543753="47"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span></span><br />
<span jquery1299858543753="82"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299858543753="81"><span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Mysteries & Thrillers</span></span> <script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: yellow;"><span style="color: red;"><strong>Read an interview with Sean on the Chair to Chair Page</strong></span> </span><br />
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An Ex-Con on the straight and narrow is pulled into a twisted game of Russian Roulette in Las Vegas to save his wife. 666. Six Contestants, six chambers in a revolver, six sides of a die.<br />
Riley Toback is at a crossroads. After serving a prison sentence for Armed Robbery, he’s determined to make a fresh start in Atlantic City.<br />
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Until his brother-in-law, drowning in gambling debt convinces him to pull a heist at a Jersey Shore nightclub.<br />
In the aftermath of the botched robbery, Karim Rashid, a vicious Indian gangster, tracks them down. And makes Riley an offer.<br />
Triple Six. One round is loaded into a revolver and the chamber is spun. The Contestant rolls a die, with the face value dictating how many times the weapon is fired.<br />
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If you can survive three rounds, you win.<br />
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With his wife and life on the line, Riley takes the deal.<br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">Find More Books on The Book Shelf!</span></span>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-60258336759761040332011-03-14T21:09:00.004-04:002011-03-15T20:28:48.374-04:00Happy St. Patrick's Day!This week, we are thinking GREEN! I've put together some books that honor St. Patrick's Day.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/3-17-ebook/dp/B004NIFSIY?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">3/17</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004NIFSIY" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <span jquery1300151873195="90"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1300151873195="89"><a asin="B002BLYIFOB004NIFSIY" href="http://www.amazon.com/MaryPat-Hyland/e/B002BLYIFO/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB002BLYIFOB004NIFSIY" jquery1300151873195="29"><span style="color: #003399;">MaryPat Hyland</span></a><a asin="B002BLYIFOB004NIFSIY" href="http://www.amazon.com/3-17-ebook/dp/B004NIFSIY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1300151855&sr=1-1#" jquery1300151873195="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span> </span><br />
<span jquery1300151873195="90"><span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Humor</span></span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Read a SAMPLE on the Featured Author Page and read an</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Interview with MaryPat on the Chair to Chair Page</span><br />
<span jquery1300151873195="90">In this loose parody of Dante’s Inferno, four Irish traditional musicians get lost in the backwoods of upstate New York the week before St. Patrick’s Day. On the journey, the band descends through nine hellish circles of American-style 3/17 revelry: Step-dancing princesses. Bobbing shamrock headbangers. Green beer bacchanals. Shillelagh-wavin’ geezers. (WARNING: Abandon hope, all ye corned beef-allergic who enter here.)<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/St-Patricks-Traditions-Recipes-ebook/dp/B004PGNB92?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004PGNB92&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>St. Patrick's Day Traditions and Recipes</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004PGNB92" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $3.34 Kindle Edition<br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Rachelle%20O%27Donnell"><span style="color: #003399;">Rachelle O'Donnell</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Cooking/Food & Wine/Holidays</span><br />
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The tradition of St. Patrick’s Day began hundreds of years ago when a boy in Roman England was captured and taken to Ireland as a captive where he found God. It is said that St. Patrick could hear from the angels, and that he had raised people from the dead. He was a very active missionary throughout Ireland for 30 years, and that is why he is called the patron saint of Ireland. There have been many legends attached to this saint, and they have lasted throughout the centuries. <br />
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In this book, we cover the myths about St. Patrick, ways to celebrate the holiday, and give you a little information about Irish step dancing and genealogy. We also throw in a few Irish recipes to help you celebrate the wearing of the green, including Bushmill's Wild Mushroom soup and Peppered River Bush Salmon. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0031567QW&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe> <br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shamrock-Patricks-Christian-Romance-ebook/dp/B0031567QW?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Lucky In Shamrock Texas St. Patricks Day Christian Romance</a> <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0031567QW" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />$3.00 Kindle Edition<br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Teresa%20Ives%20Lilly"><span style="color: #003399;">Teresa Ives Lilly</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Christian Romance/Contemporary Women</span><br />
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Just in time for St. Pats day....relax and read this wonderful story about Carol, a waitress at the U-Drop Inn, in the historic town of Shamrock Texas on Route 66. All Carol wants is to get out of this town and away from the crazy yearly St. Patricks Day celebrations. But when good looking city boy Pete comes to town, yearning to experience a true small town festival, Carol is only too happy to partner up with him. But as she sees her hometown again, through Pete's gorgeous blue eyes, she realizes that God has placed her in a very special place. Now if only Pete will stay.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0026CKYNI&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/St-Patricks-Day-Murder-ebook/dp/B0026CKYNI?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">St. Patricks Day Murder</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0026CKYNI" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $4.39 Kindle Edition<br />
by <span jquery1300148682266="217"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1300148682266="216"><a asin="B001HPPNPEB0026CKYNI" href="http://www.amazon.com/Leslie-Meier/e/B001HPPNPE/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB001HPPNPEB0026CKYNI" jquery1300148682266="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Leslie Meier</span></a><a asin="B001HPPNPEB0026CKYNI" href="http://www.amazon.com/St-Patricks-Day-Murder-ebook/dp/B0026CKYNI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1300148658&sr=1-1#" jquery1300148682266="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span> </span><br />
<span jquery1300148682266="217"><span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Mysteries & Thrillers/Women Slueths</span></span><br />
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<span jquery1300148682266="217">Not many people in Tinker's Cove, Maine, knew Old Dan Malone. The grizzled barkeep's social circle was limited to the rough-hewn lobstermen and other assorted toughs that frequented his bar. But when his body is found bobbing in the town's icy harbor, Lucy Stone makes getting to know more about Old Dan a priority. </span><br />
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Local musician Dave Reilly insists Old Dan conned a winning lottery ticket worth five grand from him. Handyman Brian Donohue claims that Old Dan stiffed him for repair work he'd done at the bar. The confusion surrounding the death is only compounded by the arrival of actor Dylan Malone, Old Dan's brother and a prominent, if fading, attraction of the Dublin stage. Dylan has come to direct the production of "Finian's Rainbow," the featured event at Our Lady of Hope's annual St. Patrick's Day extravaganza. <br />
Was Old Dan killed by someone he'd cheated or someone he'd loved? While Lucy can't be sure, one thing is abundantly clear--the stage is set for a murder mystery with a killer ending! <br />
"Warm and homespun characters, plenty of seaside ambience and a fast-moving plot make this perfect winter cozy." --<i>Publishers Weekly</i><br />
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<span jquery1300148682266="217"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004PGNBLA&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/St-Patricks-Day-Recipes-ebook/dp/B004PGNBLA?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">St. Patrick's Day Recipes - Drinks</a> <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004PGNBLA" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $3.94 Kindle Edition</span><br />
<span jquery1300148682266="217">by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Patrick%20Owens"><span style="color: #003399;">Patrick Owens</span></a> </span><br />
<span jquery1300148682266="217"><span style="color: magenta;">Cooking, Food & Wine/Drinks & Bevereges/Recipes</span></span><br />
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<span jquery1300148682266="217">It wouldn't be St. Patrick's Day without the drinks! Go beyond green beer this year to try some of these new mixed drinks, like the Lucky Leprechaun and Green Devil. There's even a few nonalcoholic recipes thrown in as well.</span><br />
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<span jquery1300148682266="217"> <iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004PLNIA4&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Toast-St-Patricks-ebook/dp/B004PLNIA4?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">A Mobster's Toast to St. Patrick's Day</a> <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004PLNIA4" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />$1.50 Kindle Edition</span><br />
by <span jquery1300149586004="60"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1300149586004="59"><a asin="B004AXAX6OB004PLNIA4" href="http://www.amazon.com/Beth-Mathison/e/B004AXAX6O/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004AXAX6OB004PLNIA4" jquery1300149586004="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Beth Mathison</span></a><a asin="B004AXAX6OB004PLNIA4" href="http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Toast-St-Patricks-ebook/dp/B004PLNIA4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1300149568&sr=1-1#" jquery1300149586004="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span></span><br />
<span jquery1300149586004="60"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1300149586004="59"><span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Short Stories</span></span> </span><br />
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<div class="productDescriptionWrapper">For Jeremy, trying to be live a life outside of the "family business" isn't easy. First, there was the Thanksgiving dinner disaster of A MOBSTER'S GUIDE TO CRANBERRY SAUCE, followed by the Valentine's Day nightmare of A MOBSTER'S RECIPE FOR CUPCAKES. By now, you'd think he'd find somewhere to lay low when a holiday rolls around.<br />
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Unfortunately for Jeremy, it appears St. Patrick's Day is going to be another trouble-filled holiday. His girlfriend Carla may be leaving him, his cupcake business is in danger of shutting down and his attempt to drown his troubles in green beer is being interrupted by Harry and Charlie, two of the most inept members of his family's employees.<br />
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When the bartender's cousin shows up with "family business" of his own, Jeremy's pretty sure he's gotten himself in the middle of a situation that no four-leaf clover is going to fix. Can Jeremy survive another holiday, get his girl back and not be driven insane by Harry and Charlie?<br />
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This is the third in Beth Mathison's MOBSTER humorous, short story crime series. <br />
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<span jquery1300150643344="59"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Enchanted-Cave-other-Irish-ebook/dp/B004RPSHUY?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004RPSHUY&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>The Enchanted Cave - and other Irish Fairy Tales</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004RPSHUY" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $3.79 Kindle Edition</span><br />
<span jquery1300150643344="59">by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Edmund%20Leamy"><span style="color: #003399;">Edmund Leamy</span></a> </span><br />
<span jquery1300150643344="59"><span style="color: magenta;">World Literature/Mythology</span></span><br />
<span jquery1300150643344="59"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="color: black;">Seven Irish Fairy Tales:<br />
1. Princess Finola And The Dwarf.<br />
2. The House In The Lake<br />
3. The Little White Cat<br />
4. The Golden Spears.<br />
5. The Fairy Tree Of Dooros</span></span></span><br />
<span jquery1300150643344="59"><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="color: black;">6. The Enchanted Cave.<br />
7. The Huntsman’s Son.</span></span></span><br />
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<div class="productDescriptionWrapper"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004PYDHIY&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe></div><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B001UE7F4Y" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Leprechaun-Magic-ebook/dp/B004PYDHIY?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Leprechaun Magic</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Cia%20Leah"><span style="color: #003399;">Cia Leah</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Contemporary Fiction/Romance</span><br />
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Irish hated St. Pat’s day until a leprechaun showed up in her computer and turned her peaceful existence into a bawdy Irish pub. She couldn’t get rid of the leprechaun no matter what she did. He kept insisting she was Irish and to enjoy the holiday with her new neighbor, Cory McDugal. <br />
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She gave up the fight of trying to convince the little man that she wasn’t Irish, no matter what her name was, but Irish magic surrounded her. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004BDOUSA&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004PYDHIY" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Little-Green-Blarney-Importance-ebook/dp/B004BDOUSA?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Little Green Book of Blarney-The Importance of Being Irish</a><br />
$3.95 Kindle Edition<br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Ruth%20Cullen"><span style="color: #003399;">Ruth Cullen</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Social History/Ireland</span><br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004BDOUSA" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />We're all just a wee bit Irish, don't you think? Indeed, some 40 million Americans claim Irish ancestry, and many more than that line the streets each March in leprechaun hats, green beer in hand, declaring "Kiss me, I'm Irish!"<br />
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But what, exactly, does it mean to be Irish?<br />
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Consider The Little Green Book of Blarney your very own pot of gold, a treasure trove of facts and wisdom about the Emerald Isle, its people, and our collective Irish past. You'll explore Irish history, culture, and literature, as well as folklore and fun. And that's no blarney! A great book for St. Patrick's Day!Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-82729572298148289462011-03-10T11:02:00.016-05:002011-03-24T14:22:53.042-04:00Still More Additions<strong><span style="color: blue;">A cozy little corner where readers can browse and authors are encouraged to submit their books. If you are a reader, feel free to look around, find a cozy chair to relax and read. You don't need a Kindle to download books. At the bottom of the page is a link to download apps to a device of your choice. And if you would like to make a recommendation, click on the link above and fill out the form. If you are a writer and would like your book added to the list, email me at <a href="mailto:breezeemc@yahoo.com">breezeemc@yahoo.com</a> with a request*. Or just fill out the form at the bottom of the page. (For "Organization" enter page where you want your content entered) Please enter "list my book" in the subject line. A small snippet/description of 300 words or less can also be added to the link and book cover. </span></strong><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003ZDO30W&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bootscootin-Blahniks-Books-ebook/dp/B003ZDO30W?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Bootscootin' Blahniks (The Bootscootin' Books)</a> .99 cents Kindle<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003ZDO30W" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/21363?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
by <span jquery1300393064782="83"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1300393064782="82"><a asin="B003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" href="http://www.amazon.com/D.-D.-Scott/e/B003ZJCBA0/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" jquery1300393064782="29"><span style="color: #003399;">D. D. Scott</span></a><a asin="B003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" href="http://www.amazon.com/Bootscootin-Blahniks-Books-ebook/dp/B003ZDO30W/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1300393043&sr=1-1#" jquery1300393064782="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span> <span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="color: maroon;">Romantic Comedy Author and a Writer's Go-To-Gal for Muse Therapy</span> <br />
<span style="color: maroon;"><strong>Plus the Amazon #1 Bestselling Author</strong></span></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Literary Fiction/Contemporary Romance/Humor</span><br />
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Manhattan apparel designer Roxy Rae Vaughn, who's also a still-in-the-closet, country line dancing queen, wants to be a fashion success story. Tired of being nothing more than a Fifth Avenue up-and-comer, thanks to her elitist parents, Roxy moves to Nashville, Tennessee and opens a boutique in a local tractor supply store, the only retail space she can afford. Short on cash and way, way down on luck, she rear-ends a pick-up truck belonging to a tomato-growin', bootscootin' cowboy who is anything but the perfect fit for her career plans, although he is her ideal dance partner. Can Roxy accept that her best fit is on the dance floor moving to her own style and her cowboy's lead?<br />
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Tomato farmer by day and bootscootin' instructor by night Zayne McDonald doesn't give a damn about winning Nashville's heirloom tomato contest, even though his late father did. Zayne wants to honor his father, but what he really wants is to line dance his way to a winner's spotlight. When he and Roxy are discovered by a huge dance show producer, Zayne learns it's partnering with Roxy that's his winning hybrid mix. That is, if he can keep her and the tomato contest away from Beefsteak Jack Baudlin, the toughest tomato man in CMT country. <a href="http://www.ddscott.com/boots_excerpt.html">A Sample here</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ddscott.com/">D. D. Scott's website</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stompin-Stetsons-Bootscootin-Books-ebook/dp/B004DI7N32?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004DI7N32&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>Stompin' on Stetsons (The Bootscootin' Books)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004DI7N32" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $2.99 Kindle<br />
<a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/31026?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
by <span jquery1300393064782="83"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1300393064782="82"><a asin="B003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" href="http://www.amazon.com/D.-D.-Scott/e/B003ZJCBA0/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" jquery1300393064782="29"><span style="color: #003399;">D. D. Scott</span></a><a asin="B003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" href="http://www.amazon.com/Bootscootin-Blahniks-Books-ebook/dp/B003ZDO30W/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1300393043&sr=1-1#" jquery1300393064782="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
amznJQ.onReady('bylinePopover', function () {});
</script> <span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="color: maroon;">Romantic Comedy Author and a Writer's Go-To-Gal for Muse Therapy</span> <br />
<span style="color: maroon;"><strong>Plus the Amazon #1 Bestselling Author</strong></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Literary Fiction/Contemporary Romance/Humor/Food,Cooking</span><br />
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Manhattan-raised, culinary-schooled pastry chef Jules Lichtenstien wants to make her new Nashville, Tennessee bakery a success. Catering the wedding of a Music City socialite and her country music, chart-topping beau could do just that. But learning the Wedding Planner From Hell is her ex has Jules’ nerves frosted. Having never found the sweet comfort in a man that she gets from her sugary confections, she vows to never again cook up anything but food in her kitchen. <br />
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Meat n’ Three diner heir and produce man Cody Weiss is fantastic with food but lousy with relationships. Or so says his ex-fiancé whose wedding he’s unwittingly agreed to help his friend Jules cater. Cody wants to help Jules, but what he really wants is to succeed in their relationship where he’s failed in the past. <br />
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With both of their exes stirring the pots, can Jules and Cody pull off the wedding without making minced meat of their relationship? And when a hat causes heat to simmer between them, will they be able to survive both in and out of the kitchen?<br />
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Love is a lot like cooking...delicious...with the right ingredients. <a href="http://www.ddscott.com/stomp_excerpt.html">Sample Here</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ddscott.com/">D. D. Scott's website</a><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004NEVZ6C&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Buckles-Baby-Bootscootin-Books-ebook/dp/B004NEVZ6C?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Buckles Me Baby (The Bootscootin' Books)</a> <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004NEVZ6C" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />$2.99 Kindle <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/41800?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
by <span jquery1300393064782="83"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1300393064782="82"><a asin="B003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" href="http://www.amazon.com/D.-D.-Scott/e/B003ZJCBA0/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" jquery1300393064782="29"><span style="color: #003399;">D. D. Scott</span></a> <span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="color: maroon;">Romantic Comedy Author and a Writer's Go-To-Gal for Muse Therapy</span> <br />
<span style="color: maroon;"><strong>Plus the Amazon #1 Bestselling Author</strong></span></span> <a asin="B003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" href="http://www.amazon.com/Bootscootin-Blahniks-Books-ebook/dp/B003ZDO30W/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1300393043&sr=1-1#" jquery1300393064782="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Literary Fiction/Humor/Parenting & Family</span><br />
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Manhattan-raised, marketing and promotion impresario Audrey Holtz has taken her friend’s belt buckles from Music City boutique favorites to home shopping channel wait-list-only items. But she’s traded in her high-power stilettos for Sketchers ‘cause her feet are swollen and killing her. Pregnancy is a bitch, especially when you’ve assumed a false identity to dodge paparazzi on account of your Ponzi-scheming parents.<br />
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Nashville TN homebuilder Damian Baker is screwed and not in the construction sense of the word. Who would have thought the first room he’d be designing and building for his dream home would be a nursery...for his and Audrey’s twins? But he’s hell-bent on providing well for and protecting the woman he loves plus the children he can’t wait to meet.<br />
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Audrey and Damian may not be able to hide from the camera lenses, the baby blues, and belt buckle mania, although they can hide behind their love. But is their love strong enough to deflect the blinding glare of the spotlight? <a href="http://www.ddscott.com/baby_excerpt.html">Sample Here</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ddscott.com/">D. D. Scott's website</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Muse-Therapy-Unleashing-Inner-ebook/dp/B004774LN4?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004774LN4&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>Muse Therapy: Unleashing Your Inner Sybil</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004774LN4" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $2.99 Kindle <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/26920?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
by <span jquery1300393064782="83"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1300393064782="82"><a asin="B003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" href="http://www.amazon.com/D.-D.-Scott/e/B003ZJCBA0/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" jquery1300393064782="29"><span style="color: #003399;">D. D. Scott</span></a><a asin="B003ZJCBA0B003ZDO30W" href="http://www.amazon.com/Bootscootin-Blahniks-Books-ebook/dp/B003ZDO30W/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1300393043&sr=1-1#" jquery1300393064782="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
amznJQ.onReady('bylinePopover', function () {});
</script> <span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: maroon;">Romantic Comedy Author and a Writer's Go-To-Gal for Muse Therapy</span> <br />
<span style="color: maroon;"><strong>Plus the Amazon #1 Bestselling Author</strong></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Nonfiction/Publishing & Books/Writing Skills/Authorship</span><br />
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MUSE THERAPY utilizes fun and fabulous tools to inject life into writers’ tired and/or stressed out muses. By showing you how to analyze your muses’ funks, rein in your creative divas and ultimately up your page counts, D. D.’s created a writer’s go-to-manual for “muse disorders”. She’ll help you dig deep then deeper still into your writer psyche.<br />
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Why is she helping writers the world over?<br />
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Here’s the scoop...<br />
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Once upon a time her muses weren’t ticking. They were ticked off. Why? Because they were too damn tired and stressed out trying to find their way on the Yellow Brick Road to Publishing Oz. Screw the Happily Ever After. Her creative divas couldn’t produce past page one. <br />
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Saying that writing-for-publication is tough is the bolder-than-bold-faced understatement of the new millennium. And with today’s huge economic and technological changes, it ain’t gettin’ any easier. <br />
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But once D. D. shows you how to recognize, acknowledge and accept your muses’ afflictions and teaches you her tricks, tips and “trips” to treat the word witches of your writing world, you and your muses will be cranking out pages with gusto.<br />
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Plus, you won’t be alone in your journey. Her MUSE THERAPY tips and tricks continue to be apropos no matter where a writer is in his/her career. By sharing fantastic and at times roll on the floor, laugh out loud anecdotes she gathered - either interviewing or attending workshops given by the romance genre’s hottest stars – she proves this assertion. You’ll hear from:<br />
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Allison Brennan<br />
Jennifer Crusie<br />
Cynthia Eden<br />
Janet Evanovich<br />
Jennifer Greene<br />
Nancy Haddock<br />
Gemma Halliday<br />
Linda Howard<br />
Eloisa James<br />
Marcia James<br />
Jayne Ann Krentz<br />
Debbie Macomber<br />
Nora Roberts<br />
Karen Rose<br />
Tawny Weber<br />
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Welcome to “therapy”...MUSE THERAPY that is. <a href="http://www.ddscott.com/muse.html">Sample Here</a><br />
<a href="http://www.ddscott.com/">D. D. Scott's website</a><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004LGS7KO&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Expert-Assistance-ebook/dp/B004LGS7KO?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Expert Assistance</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004LGS7KO" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004LGS7KO/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=B004LGS7KO">Expert Assistance</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B004LGS7KO">Amazon UK</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Expert-Assistance-Robert-Collins/dp/1456510088?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Expert Assistance</a> $10.00 paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1456510088" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/39734?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a> <a href="http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=9781456510084&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FExpert-Assistance%2FRobert-Collins%2Fe%2F9781456510084&usg=AFHzDLtJNxQGsJE3g07OR-sTOKe18y7Phg&pubid=21000000000353156">B&N</a><br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Robert%20Collins"><span style="color: #003399;">Robert Collins</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Science Fiction/Humor/Space Opera</span><br />
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Spacer Jake Bonner will lose his hot spaceship if he doesn’t get a good-paying job. He’s approached by a couple to help them overthrow their planet’s tyrannical ruler, and asked to be a glorified chauffeur to pop star Evangelyne “Evvie” Martini. Evvie finds out about Jake's other job, invites herself to the revolution; hilarity ensues.<br />
Bio: my third novel, "Monitor," came out last year from Whiskey Creek Press. My second science fiction novel, "Lisa's Way," was released in 2008 by eTreasures Publishing. My first SF novel, "Expert Assistance," came out in 2007 through Asylett Press. I've had stories and articles appear in periodicals such as Marion Zimmer Bradley's Fantasy Magazine; Tales of the Talisman; Space Westerns; Sorcerous Signals; Wild West; and Model Railroader. In 2007 Pelican released my biography of "Bleeding Kansas" leader Jim Lane, and before that a biography of a Kansas Civil War general. I've had six Kansas railroad books published by South Platte Press.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003MQMRAU&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Trophy-Hunter-ebook/dp/B003MQMRAU?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Trophy Hunter</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/23516?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
by <span jquery1299959888733="82"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299959888733="81"><a asin="B004DWQV0OB003MQMRAU" href="http://www.amazon.com/J.-M.-Zambrano/e/B004DWQV0O/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004DWQV0OB003MQMRAU" jquery1299959888733="29"><span style="color: #003399;">J. M. Zambrano</span></a><a asin="B004DWQV0OB003MQMRAU" href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Trophy-Hunter-ebook/dp/B003MQMRAU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299959874&sr=1-1#" jquery1299959888733="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Thriller & Suspense</span><br />
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When attorney Diana Martin takes on a new client as a favor to her best friend, PI Jessica Edwards, she has no clue that she and Jess will soon become targets for a psychopathic hunter set on collecting beautiful women of diverse ethnicities. And he's obsessed with keeping them perfectly beautiful FOREVER.<br />
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The Trophy Hunter is approximately 75,000 words long. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004EPYTZO&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pool-of-Lies-ebook/dp/B004EPYTZO?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Pool of Lies</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/33717?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004EPYTZO" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <span jquery1299959888733="82"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299959888733="81"><a asin="B004DWQV0OB003MQMRAU" href="http://www.amazon.com/J.-M.-Zambrano/e/B004DWQV0O/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004DWQV0OB003MQMRAU" jquery1299959888733="29"><span style="color: #003399;">J. M. Zambrano</span></a><a asin="B004DWQV0OB003MQMRAU" href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Trophy-Hunter-ebook/dp/B003MQMRAU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299959874&sr=1-1#" jquery1299959888733="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Thriller & Suspense</span><br />
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When heiress Deidre Lassiter dies of a drug overdose in her hot tub, ripples from the pool of lies that shaped her life spread to the lives of those she leaves behind.<br />
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Rae Esposito, widowed forensic accountant, sets out to help Deidre's husband settle his wife's estate and discovers that Deidre was murdered. Bent on getting justice for Deidre, Rae enlists the help of her dead husband's partner, Detective Veronica Sanchez, but a dirty cop and a drug dealing snitch muddy the waters.<br />
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On the periphery, a man and a woman conduct a private quest for justice. Deidre was their lovechild. And in spite of the intervening years, their secret love still lives.<br />
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As Rae unravels the lies that bind those connected with Deidre's case, she faces truths that set asunder everything she thought she knew about her marriage and her husband's death. When the final deception surfaces, it could cost Rae her life.<br />
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Pool of Lies is approximately 75,000 words <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003X4M6R0&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Natalies-Story-ebook/dp/B003X4M6R0?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Natalie's Story</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Natalies-Story/Talia-Jager/e/2940012106575/?itm=1&USRI=talia+jager">Nook</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003X4M6R0" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B003X4M6R0/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=B003X4M6R0">Damaged: Natalie's Story</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B003X4M6R0">Amazon UK</a><br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/s?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Talia%20Jager"><span style="color: #003399;">Talia Jager</span></a><br />
<div>My blog is: <a href="http://taliajager.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://taliajager.blogspot.com/</a></div><span style="color: magenta;">Young Adult</span><br />
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<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Natalie Jarrett is a seventeen-year-old girl who falls in love with the wrong boy. When she finds herself in the hospital after one of his violent attacks, she can no longer turn a blind eye. Suffering from severe injuries, her doctor tells her she will never be the same again. Although injured and feeling guilty, alone, scared and most of all, damaged, everyone seems to expect her to return quickly to her normal life – but how can she bounce back when she blames herself for all that’s gone wrong?</span></span></div><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004OA6K4M&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Teagans-Story-ebook/dp/B004OA6K4M?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Teagan's Story</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Teagans-Story/Talia-Jager/e/2940012282149/?itm=2&USRI=talia+jager">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004OA6K4M/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=B004OA6K4M">Teagan's Story: Her Battle With Epilepsy</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B004OA6K4M">Amazon UK</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004OA6K4M" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/s?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Talia%20Jager"><span style="color: #003399;">Talia Jager</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;"></span><br />
<div>My blog is: <a href="http://taliajager.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://taliajager.blogspot.com/</a></div>Young Adult<br />
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<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Teagan Kavanagh’s life is shattered when her parents are killed in a car accident. She must move in with her brother and is forced to attend public school for the first time in her life. As if starting a new school her junior year wasn’t hard enough, she continues to battle epilepsy and the constant unknown of when and where her next seizure will occur. As this new chapter in her life opens, she gets more than she bargained for. Torn between playing it safe and risking her life to be normal, Teagan must make a life changing decision.</span></span></div><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004OYT8MO&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/ROLL-OF-THE-DIE-ebook/dp/B004OYT8MO?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">ROLL OF THE DIE</a> $3.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/44347?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004OYT8MO" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<span jquery1299858543753="82"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299858543753="81"><a asin="B004PBZRQ2B004OYT8MO" href="http://www.amazon.com/Sean-Bridges/e/B004PBZRQ2/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004PBZRQ2B004OYT8MO" jquery1299858543753="46"><span style="color: #003399;">Sean Bridges</span></a><a asin="B004PBZRQ2B004OYT8MO" href="http://www.amazon.com/ROLL-OF-THE-DIE-ebook/dp/B004OYT8MO/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299858529&sr=1-1#" jquery1299858543753="47"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span></span><br />
<span jquery1299858543753="82"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299858543753="81"><span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Mysteries & Thrillers</span></span> <script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: yellow;">Read an interview with Sean on the Chair to Chair Page </span><br />
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An Ex-Con on the straight and narrow is pulled into a twisted game of Russian Roulette in Las Vegas to save his wife. 666. Six Contestants, six chambers in a revolver, six sides of a die.<br />
Riley Toback is at a crossroads. After serving a prison sentence for Armed Robbery, he’s determined to make a fresh start in Atlantic City.<br />
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Until his brother-in-law, drowning in gambling debt convinces him to pull a heist at a Jersey Shore nightclub.<br />
In the aftermath of the botched robbery, Karim Rashid, a vicious Indian gangster, tracks them down. And makes Riley an offer.<br />
Triple Six. One round is loaded into a revolver and the chamber is spun. The Contestant rolls a die, with the face value dictating how many times the weapon is fired.<br />
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If you can survive three rounds, you win.<br />
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With his wife and life on the line, Riley takes the deal.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Fathers-Child-ebook/dp/B004DCB3W0?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004DCB3W0&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>The Father's Child</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004DCB3W0" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <span jquery1299807102170="81"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299807102170="80"><a asin="B004E2NAC0B004DCB3W0" href="http://www.amazon.com/Mark-Adair/e/B004E2NAC0/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004E2NAC0B004DCB3W0" jquery1299807102170="45"><span style="color: #003399;">Mark Adair</span></a><a asin="B004E2NAC0B004DCB3W0" href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Fathers-Child-ebook/dp/B004DCB3W0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299807080&sr=1-1#" jquery1299807102170="46"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Technofiction/Romantic Suspense/Mysteries & Thrillers</span><br />
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John Truman, a bright, introverted, college student belongs to the New Dawn...he just doesn't know it yet. The 300-year-old, Oxford-based, secret society designed him, created him, and built their organization to interface with him. They cannot survive without him; he cannot survive without them. All he wants is to get through today; all they want...is to rule the world. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004HFS448&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>The Last Pendragon $2.99<br />
Amazon link: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004HFS448/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B004HFS448">The Last Pendragon: A Story of Dark Age Wales (The Last Pendragon Trilogy)</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B004HFS448" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_0">HERE</span></a> At Amazon UK: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004HFS448/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=B004HFS448">The Last Pendragon: A Story of Dark Age Wales (The Last Pendragon Trilogy)</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B004HFS448" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">HERE</a> <br />
by <span jquery1299798169655="77"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299798169655="76"><a asin="B0044ZZO58B004HFS448" href="http://www.amazon.com/Sarah-Woodbury/e/B0044ZZO58/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB0044ZZO58B004HFS448" jquery1299798169655="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Sarah Woodbury</span></a><a asin="B0044ZZO58B004HFS448" href="http://www.amazon.com/Last-Pendragon-Story-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B004HFS448/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299798149&sr=1-1#" jquery1299798169655="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Historical Fantasy</span><br />
<span style="color: yellow;">Read an interview with Sarah on the Chair to Chair Page</span><br />
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He is a king, a warrior, the last hope of his people--and the chosen one of the sidhe . . . Set in <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_1" style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; border-bottom: medium none; cursor: hand;">7th century</span> Wales, the Last Pendragon is the story of Cadwaladr (<span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_2" style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; border-bottom: #366388 2px dotted; cursor: hand;">Cade</span>), heir to the throne of Arthur, and his love, Rhiann. Born to rule, yet without a kingdom, Cade must learn to be both Christian king and pagan hero, and Rhiann must decide how much she is willing to risk to follow her heart. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004KAB9GU&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe> <a href="http://amazon.com/" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_4">Amazon.com</span></a>: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004KAB9GU/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B004KAB9GU">Footsteps in Time: A Time Travel Fantasy (After Cilmeri)</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B004KAB9GU" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_5">Footsteps in Time</span></a> Amazon UK: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004KAB9GU/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thecozcorrear-21&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=B004KAB9GU">Footsteps in Time: A Time Travel Fantasy (After Cilmeri)</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=thecozcorrear-21&l=as2&o=2&a=B004KAB9GU" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Footsteps in Time</a><br />
.99 Cents<br />
by <span jquery1299798169655="77"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299798169655="76"><a asin="B0044ZZO58B004HFS448" href="http://www.amazon.com/Sarah-Woodbury/e/B0044ZZO58/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB0044ZZO58B004HFS448" jquery1299798169655="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Sarah Woodbury</span></a><a asin="B0044ZZO58B004HFS448" href="http://www.amazon.com/Last-Pendragon-Story-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B004HFS448/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299798149&sr=1-1#" jquery1299798169655="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Historical fantasy/Time travel fantasy/YA</span><br />
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In December of 1282, English soldiers ambushed and murdered <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_6" style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; border-bottom: #366388 2px dotted; cursor: hand;">Llywelyn ap Gruffydd</span>, the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_7" style="border-bottom: #366388 2px dotted; cursor: hand;">Prince of Wales</span>. His death marked the end of <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_8" style="border-bottom: #366388 2px dotted; cursor: hand;">Wales</span> as an independent nation and the beginning of over seven hundred years of English oppression.<br />
<em>Footsteps in Time </em>is the story of what might have happened had Llywelyn lived.<br />
And what happens to the two American teenagers who save him.<br />
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<em><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004KAB9II&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>Prince of Time</em> <i>After Cilmeri</i> Book Two $2.99<br />
At Amazon.com: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004KAB9II/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B004KAB9II">Prince of Time (After Cilmeri)</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B004KAB9II" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_9">Prince of Time</span></a><br />
At Amazon UK: <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Prince of Time</a><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Historical fantasy/Time travel fantasy/YA</span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><span style="color: blue;"><em>Prince of Time</em>, the second book in the <em>After Cilmeri</em> series, continues the story of David and Anna, two American teenagers catapulted back in time to alter history and save the medieval kingdom of Wales. David and his man-at-arms, Ieuan, find themselves alone and on the run from a company of English soldiers who’ve sworn vengeance for the recent death of their king. Meanwhile, Llywelyn lays on his deathbed from a traitor’s arrow. And once again, it is David and Anna, and all they represent, that holds the key to the survival of Wales.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Sarah's website: <a href="http://www.sarahwoodbury.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299770677_10">www.sarahwoodbury.com</span></a></span></span><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004LLII9Y&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rita-Morse-Sinister-Shadow-ebook/dp/B004LLII9Y?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Rita Morse and the Sinister Shadow</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004LLII9Y" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
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by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Holly%20Hook"><span style="color: #003399;">Holly Hook</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Young Adult Fantasy</span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><span style="color: black;">Fourteen year-old Rita Morse is the kind of girl that the teen-hating Shadow Regime doesn’t like. She won't put up with crap that isn’t fair. Ever. After she toilet-papers a video game store in retaliation for a ban on teens, the Regime, an army of immortals secretly trying to oppress teens all over the world, adds her to their list of threats. That’s not good, because the Regime’s enemies always disappear.</span></span><br />
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<div><span style="color: black;">Now Rita’s in the biggest trouble of her life. She’s being stalked, threatened, and nearly kidnapped by <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299801440_4">shadow people</span>. And the Regime isn’t the only danger: they also control countless humans around the world, some of which are much closer to Rita than she thinks. There’s nowhere to turn.</span></div><div></div><div><span style="color: black;">If Rita can’t learn the Shadow Regime’s reason for their war on teens—and her—she might not make it through her first week of high school. </span></div><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004I6DKUO&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Crossing-ebook/dp/B004I6DKUO?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Crossing</a> $3.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004I6DKUO" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Crossing-Faith-Mortimer/dp/1905513682?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Crossing</a> $16.99 paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1905513682" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon.co.uk</a><br />
by <span jquery1299807446251="146"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299807446251="145"><a asin="B002EQ8HH6B004I6DKUO" href="http://www.amazon.com/Faith-Mortimer/e/B002EQ8HH6/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB002EQ8HH6B004I6DKUO" jquery1299807446251="52"><span style="color: #003399;">Faith Mortimer</span></a></span></span><br />
<span jquery1299807446251="146"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299807446251="145"><span style="color: magenta;">Contemporary Fiction/Action & Adventure</span></span></span><br />
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<span jquery1299807446251="146"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299807446251="145"></span> A successful businessman, Richard William Barker has accomplished much in life. Together with his wife, Connie, he was about to embark on a long-dreamed-of sailing adventure. Little did he know that his dream was to become his nightmare.<br />
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In The Crossing, the reader is taken on this action-packed, fateful voyage and through a twist of fate is transported back to the Second World War where Richard's late father, Billy Barker, a naval rating assigned as crew on a Motor Torpedo Boat, is captured by the enemy during a daring action off the French coast. His story of survival and friendship against all odds contrasts with his own burgeoning love for a pretty English girl, and leads Richard to begin his own recovery and understand that life must go on.<br />
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Based on a true incident, this powerfully emotive tale of passion and love across two generations in the parallel settings of modern day action and the horrors of war makes an utterly compelling read with a refreshing and very different approach to subjects which are normally the preserve of male authors.<script type="text/javascript">
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<div class="MsoNormal">My website <a href="http://www.faithmortimerauthor.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299802376_1">http://www.faithmortimerauthor.com</span></a></div><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004O6MV0S&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/In-Search-of-Lucy-ebook/dp/B004O6MV0S?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">In Search of Lucy</a> $5.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004O6MV0S" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012256379&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FIn-Search-of-Lucy%2FLia-Fairchild%2Fe%2F2940012256379&usg=AFHzDLue8sr5sYuWLWyjTs4J4wppAl52WQ&pubid=21000000000353156">In Search of Lucy</a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://bit.ly/geajox">fReado</a><br />
by <span jquery1299770933777="71"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299770933777="70"><a asin="B004OUENSWB004O6MV0S" href="http://www.amazon.com/Lia-Fairchild/e/B004OUENSW/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004OUENSWB004O6MV0S" jquery1299770933777="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Lia Fairchild</span></a><a asin="B004OUENSWB004O6MV0S" href="http://www.amazon.com/In-Search-of-Lucy-ebook/dp/B004O6MV0S/ref=sr_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1297987629&sr=1-8#" jquery1299770933777="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span> </span><br />
<span jquery1299770933777="71"><span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Parents & Family/Contemporary Fiction</span></span><br />
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<span jquery1299770933777="71">Thirty-year-old Lucy Lang is lost. She spent most of her young life sacrificing her own needs to care for her half-sister and deal with their alcoholic mother. Now abandoned by both of them, Lucy struggles to find her own purpose in life. A struggle that is laden with wretched memories and regret. With no family, no relationships and an unfulfilling job Lucy becomes depressed, cynical and self-destructive. At times she’d even contemplated suicide as the only way out. <br />
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When she is just about to hit rock bottom, Lucy finds out that her sister is ill and needs a kidney transplant. Lucy is found to be the only match, and has no choice but to live. Now, Lucy is trapped in a lonely existence to save her sister’s life. And, she must battle with her emotions; her bitter resentment for her sister’s heartless departure and her longing to be needed again and take care of the person she once loved most in the world. With the help of new found friends, Benny and Anne, and a possible romance, Lucy sets out on a journey that will reunite her with her sister as well as herself. In the end, Lucy just might discover the answers she needs to find happiness and her own purpose in life.<br />
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With simply genuine and endearing characters, In Search of Lucy transports every reader right into the story. This contemporary novel about the power of relationships and how they affect our identity will appeal to anyone that has ever experienced loss and love.</span><br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0045UA6F0" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0045UA6F0&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Impeding-Justice-Simpkins-thriller-ebook/dp/B0045UA6F0?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Impeding Justice (A Lorne Simpkins thriller)</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Impeding-Justice-Mel-Comley/dp/1908248947?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Impeding Justice</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1908248947" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $14.84 paperback<br />
by <span jquery1299771631403="88"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299771631403="87"><a asin="B0045YOB9IB0045UA6F0" href="http://www.amazon.com/Mel-Comley/e/B0045YOB9I/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB0045YOB9IB0045UA6F0" jquery1299771631403="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Mel Comley</span></a></span></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Myteries & Thrillers/Police Procedurals</span><br />
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Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins comes up against her long-time nemesis, The Unicorn. After leading Simpkins and her partner into a trap, in which Pete is killed, Lorne comes to the conclusion the criminal is obtaining insider information, enabling him to stay one step ahead of them. With the informant out of the way, The Unicorn needs to find another way to keep Lorne on her toes, so he kidnaps the D I’s teenage daughter. But, Lorne’s troubles don’t end there. She is forced off the case by a Superintendent with a ten-year vendetta against her father. Fortunately, the Chief Inspector insists Lorne’s vast expertise is needed to solve the case. The investigation takes a surprising turn when one of the region’s most precious landmarks is held to ransom by The Unicorn, but this merely turns out to be yet another one of his frivolous decoys, as his true audacious plan unfolds… A fast-paced thriller of 83,000 words. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004OEKFYO&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Final-Justice-Simpkins-thriller-ebook/dp/B004OEKFYO?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Final Justice (A Lorne Simpkins thriller)</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004OEKFYO" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <span jquery1299771631403="88"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299771631403="87"><a asin="B0045YOB9IB0045UA6F0" href="http://www.amazon.com/Mel-Comley/e/B0045YOB9I/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB0045YOB9IB0045UA6F0" jquery1299771631403="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Mel Comley</span></a></span></span> <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0045UA6F0" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Myteries & Thrillers/Police Procedurals</span><br />
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This is the sequel to Impeding Justice but is also a standalone thriller/adventure.<br />
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After suffering a breakdown and quitting the force, former Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins is contacted by a friend at MI6 to help in a covert operation. Against her will, Lorne is convinced to help track down an old enemy, a sadistic and calculating criminal whose ambition is to become the world's richest man.<br />
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It’s up to Lorne and the agent to prevent him, which results in a chase through France.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004KZOU3E&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Blood-Line-ebook/dp/B004KZOU3E?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Blood Line</a> .99 cents Kindle Edtion<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004KZOU3E" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />by <span jquery1299772417321="77"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299772417321="76"><a asin="B004L44EXUB004KZOU3E" href="http://www.amazon.com/Kate-Hamilton/e/B004L44EXU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004L44EXUB004KZOU3E" jquery1299772417321="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Kate Hamilton</span></a><a asin="B004L44EXUB004KZOU3E" href="http://www.amazon.com/Blood-Line-ebook/dp/B004KZOU3E/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=merchant-items&qid=1299772395&sr=1-2#" jquery1299772417321="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span> </span><br />
<span jquery1299772417321="77"><span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Literature/Gothic/Humor</span></span><br />
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<span jquery1299772417321="77">When Lauren MacBreach's angel turns up and offers to save her from a fate worse than death she turns him down. It does not take her very long to regret her decision as she is catapulted across the Atlantic to an unknown destination filled with crazy people who attempt to do away with her. <br />
She meets Euphemia - 'Mia' - a distant cousin who has more than a little interest in the Laird; Ginger, who is a little too trigger happy for comfort; Erroll, who has a strange take on eightsome reels.<br />
Historical enactments of the Boston tea party and a Haggis Hunt add to the fun.<br />
But why does the vicar have a sacrificial altar in his bedroom? What was the Laird of Tomindoul doing on his visit to the King of Spain? And just who is The Tawny Man?<br />
Fortunately her angel is there to save her. After all she is his first case. But even he isn't fallible. In doubt as to whether the stunningly tall, dark and handsome Laird of Tomindoul is to be her husband or her killer, Lauren trusts her angel will save her from that fate worse than death. But she does not know when or how.<br />
A hilarious romp in the Scottish Highlands, Blood Line is a Gothic comedy romance with a sweet ending. </span><br />
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</div><div></div><div></div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-24378313777180499142011-03-09T11:36:00.017-05:002011-03-24T14:25:56.820-04:00The Cozy Corner's new Additions<strong><span style="color: blue;">A cozy little corner where readers can browse and authors are encouraged to submit their books. If you are a reader, feel free to look around, find a cozy chair to relax and read. You don't need a Kindle to download books. At the bottom of the page is a link to download apps to a device of your choice. And if you would like to make a recommendation, click on the link above and fill out the form. If you are a writer and would like your book added to the list, email me at <a href="mailto:breezeemc@yahoo.com">breezeemc@yahoo.com</a> with a request*. Or just fill out the form at the bottom of the page. (For "Organization" enter page where you want your content entered) Please enter "list my book" in the subject line. A small snippet/description of 300 words or less can also be added to the link and book cover. </span></strong><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004OEIWBC&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Trouble-With-Thieves-ebook/dp/B004OEIWBC?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Trouble With Thieves</a> .99 cents Kindle US<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004OEIWBC" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012658777&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FThe-Trouble-With-Thieves%2FMaurice-Alvarez%2Fe%2F2940012658777&usg=AFHzDLsxOS1gQbi3azAvtDAS_R5ixebelg&pubid=21000000000353156">The Trouble With Thieves</a>" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Barnes & Noble</span></a><span style="font-family: Garamond;">, </span><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42564?ref=Breezee1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Smashwords</span></a><span style="font-family: Garamond;">, </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B004OEIWBC" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Amazon</span></a><span style="font-family: Garamond;"> and </span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Amazon UK</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="GramE">by </span> Maurice X. Alvarez & Ande Li</span></span><br />
<strong><span style="color: yellow;">Read an interview on the Chair to Chair page</span></strong><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Sci-fi/Fantacy</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Kormèr Lezàl is a young man living a double life on his planet Elmar. Privileged by birth, he seeks to correct the injustices of his feudal world by becoming a specialist in "wealth redistribution." One day he finds a most wondrous, miraculous device, which can open a portal to any place and any <i><span style="font-style: italic;">time</span></i> in the universe he can imagine, and far beyond. During a moment of romantic indiscretion, Kormèr is forced to flee through the device. Thus begins a journey unlike any he's had before.<br />
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Jeransy is a thorny English rose seeking escape from her dystopian, oppressive world, and when she finds her means, she intends to never go back. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Anndrew is a bored teenager seeking excitement in modern-day America , which she finds in the form of an alien who promises her the trip of a lifetime.<br />
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Cecil is brilliant, driven and alone. Picked on by bullies and misunderstood by his family, he is willing to risk everything to prove himself. When fate deals him the opportunity to seize power beyond his wildest dreams, he decides that nothing will keep him from his chance at greatness. When he learns that Kormèr Lezàl is on his trail and intends to take him back to Earth... well, he's not going without a fight.</span></span></div><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004OYTUOU&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Conquer-Heart-King-ebook/dp/B004OYTUOU?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">To Conquer the Heart of a King</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004OYTUOU" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=J.%20S.%20Laurenz"><span style="color: #003399;">J. S. Laurenz</span></a> a member of Romance Divas, RWA<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Historical Romance</span><br />
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I’m scheduled to appear on <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299713347_1" style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; border-bottom: #366388 2px dotted; cursor: hand;">New Hampshire Public Radio</span>’s <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299713347_2" style="background-color: #dceeff; border-bottom: #366388 2px dotted; color: black; cursor: hand;">Word of Mouth</span> show to talk about my experiences going digital. I have a tentative date of <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299713347_3" style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; border-bottom: #366388 2px dotted; cursor: hand;">March 16th</span>: <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299713347_4"><a href="http://www.nhpr.org/wordofmouth">http://www.nhpr.org/wordofmouth</a> "</span><br />
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A woman who knows the future but not her own past. The son of a king who must fight for his crown. They will come together to get what they each desire. Their pact will turn to passion…but will they realize it before intrigue tears them apart? <br />
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Before Lukas of Falkenberg returns to the Black Forest to take the throne from his dying father, he pays a visit to the nameless and sightless Seer at the Cloister of Mariendorf. He takes her captive to use her intuition to establish his reign. She willingly trades the punishing confines of the cloister for a palace prison in the hope of gaining her ultimate freedom. Although blind, she can see what the future king cannot—the needs of his subjects. She will win them over, but can she conquer the heart of a king before his half-brother Magnus separates them in a plot even she cannot foresee? <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003B3NYS8&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fashion-Police-Murder-Mystery-ebook/dp/B003B3NYS8?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Fashion Police (An Amber Fox Murder Mystery)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003B3NYS8" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $3.99 Kindle Edition<br />
by <span jquery1299709175469="100"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299709175469="99"><a asin="B003H0Q4EQB003B3NYS8" href="http://www.amazon.com/Sibel-Hodge/e/B003H0Q4EQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB003H0Q4EQB003B3NYS8" jquery1299709175469="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Sibel Hodge</span></a><a asin="B003H0Q4EQB003B3NYS8" href="http://www.amazon.com/Fashion-Police-Murder-Mystery-ebook/dp/B003B3NYS8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299709161&sr=1-1-spell#" jquery1299709175469="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Chiclit/Mystery</span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: yellow;">Read an interview with Sibel Hodge on the Chair to Chair Page</span></strong><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Amber Fox has been making too many mistakes lately and something's got to give... </span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">For starters, Amber accidentally shoots Chief Inspector Janice Skipper and gets thrown off the police force. The only one who knows the truth about the incident is Amber, but no one will believe her.<br />
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After accepting a job as an insurance investigator from her ex-fiancé, Brad Beckett, it turns out that Brad thinks they've still got unfinished business and the job description includes sexual favours that come with a price.<br />
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When fashion designer, Umberto Fandango, goes missing, Amber becomes embroiled in a complicated case. But Amber's arch-enemy, Chief Inspector Skipper, is also investigating his disappearance, and it's a race against time for Amber to solve the mystery before Skipper does and get her old job back. And just when Amber thinks things can't get any worse, she's being stalked by some crazy mobsters.<br />
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Who is Umberto Fandango? Is he dead? And can Amber stay one step ahead and stay alive?</span></span></span><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004IK93XS&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Wedding-Romantic-Comedy-ebook/dp/B004IK93XS?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">My Perfect Wedding (Romantic Comedy)</a> $3.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004IK93XS" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <span jquery1299796566278="87"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299796566278="86"><a asin="B003H0Q4EQB004IK93XS" href="http://www.amazon.com/Sibel-Hodge/e/B003H0Q4EQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB003H0Q4EQB004IK93XS" jquery1299796566278="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Sibel Hodge</span></a><a asin="B003H0Q4EQB004IK93XS" href="http://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Wedding-Romantic-Comedy-ebook/dp/B004IK93XS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299795041&sr=1-1#" jquery1299796566278="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Romantic Comedy/Chicklit</span></div><br />
Helen Grey is finally getting everything she wants. She's about to have the perfect dream wedding and begin an exciting new life abroad on the sunny Mediterranean island of Cyprus. But living the dream isn't all it's cracked up to be. <br />
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After a mix-up at the airport, Helen finds herself drawn into the midst of an elaborate plot to steal an ancient statue and assassinate a local businessman. And as if that wasn't bad enough, her wedding dress is AWOL, the statue seems to be cursed, and Helen is wanted by the police.<br />
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With the big day rapidly approaching, a roller-coaster of mishaps, misunderstandings, and disasters threatens to turn the newlyweds into nearlyweds. <br />
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Can Helen prevent an assassination, save the statue, and have the perfect wedding? Or will the day to remember turn into one she'd rather forget? <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fourteen-Later-Romantic-Comedy-ebook/dp/B003B3O0UE?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003B3O0UE&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>Fourteen Days Later (Romantic Comedy)</a> $3.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003B3O0UE" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fourteen-Days-Later-Romantic-Comedy/dp/1451531346?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Fourteen Days Later (Romantic Comedy)</a> $13.99 paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1451531346" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <span jquery1299796566278="87"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299796566278="86"><a asin="B003H0Q4EQB004IK93XS" href="http://www.amazon.com/Sibel-Hodge/e/B003H0Q4EQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB003H0Q4EQB004IK93XS" jquery1299796566278="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Sibel Hodge</span></a><a asin="B003H0Q4EQB004IK93XS" href="http://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Wedding-Romantic-Comedy-ebook/dp/B004IK93XS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299795041&sr=1-1#" jquery1299796566278="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Romantic Comedy/Chicklit</span><br />
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<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">When accident-prone Helen Grey finds a thong stuffed into the pocket of her boyfriend’s best work trousers, it’s time for her to move on. His excuse that he needed to dust the photocopier and just thought that it was a rag sounds like a lame excuse. Helen’s life is propelled in an unexpected direction after her best friend, Ayshe, sets her a fourteen-day, life-changing challenge.<br />
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Helen receives a task everyday which she must complete without question. The tasks are designed to build her confidence and boost her self-esteem but all they seem to do is push her closer to Ayshe’s brother, Kalem.<br />
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How will Kalem and Helen get together when she’s too foolish to realize that she loves him? How can he fall for her when he is too busy falling prey to her mishaps and too in love with his own perfect girlfriend? How will Kalem’s Turkish Cypriot family react when they find out?<br />
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Is it really possible to change your life in fourteen days?</span></span></div><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004AM5DJW&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Guide-Cranberry-Sauce-ebook/dp/B004AM5DJW?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">A Mobster's Guide to Cranberry Sauce</a> $1.50 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004AM5DJW" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<span jquery1299697764446="89"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299697764446="88"><span jquery1299697764446="89"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299697764446="88">by <a asin="B004AXAX6OB004AM5DJW" href="http://www.amazon.com/Beth-Mathison/e/B004AXAX6O/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004AXAX6OB004AM5DJW" jquery1299697764446="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Beth Mathison</span></a><a asin="B004AXAX6OB004AM5DJW" href="http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Guide-Cranberry-Sauce-ebook/dp/B004AM5DJW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299697749&sr=1-1#" jquery1299697764446="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><span style="color: #003399;"> </span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Humor/Short Stories/Mysteries & Thrillers</span><br />
<strong><span style="color: yellow;">See Author Interview on the Chair to Chair Page</span></strong><br />
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Charlie and Harry know it's their job to take care of the "family." So when Jeremy shows up for Thanksgiving dinner and starts acting suspiciously, the two mobsters figure they'd better make sure nobody's gonna get whacked. This short story appears in the Thanksgiving mystery anthology THE KILLER WORE CRANBERRY.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004JXVYI6&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Recipe-Cupcakes-Valentines-ebook/dp/B004JXVYI6?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">A Mobster's Recipe for Cupcakes: A Valentine's Day Story</a> $1.50 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004JXVYI6" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004JXVYI6" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <span jquery1299698152817="60"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299698152817="59"><a asin="B004AXAX6OB004JXVYI6" href="http://www.amazon.com/Beth-Mathison/e/B004AXAX6O/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004AXAX6OB004JXVYI6" jquery1299698152817="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Beth Mathison</span></a><a asin="B004AXAX6OB004JXVYI6" href="http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Recipe-Cupcakes-Valentines-ebook/dp/B004JXVYI6/ref=tag_dpp_lp_edpp_ttl_in#" jquery1299698152817="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Humor/Short Stories/Mysteries & Thrillers</span><br />
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Jeremy, Harry and Charlie, fresh from their adventures in A MOBSTER'S GUIDE TO CRANBERRY SAUCE, are back and in more trouble than ever.<br />
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After the Thanksgiving disaster in their previous outing, Jeremy is determined to leave the cranberries (and the "family business") behind and open a successful cupcake shop. When Harry and Charlie show up during his efforts to get ready for Valentine's Day with another crime gone horribly wrong, Jeremy soon realizes that even when you want out of the family's problems, it's rarely that easy.<br />
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A comic crime caper from our Fingerprints short story line. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004PLNIA4&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Toast-St-Patricks-ebook/dp/B004PLNIA4?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">A Mobster's Toast to St. Patrick's Day</a> $1.50 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004PLNIA4" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<span jquery1299698286518="72"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299698286518="71">by <a asin="B004AXAX6OB004PLNIA4" href="http://www.amazon.com/Beth-Mathison/e/B004AXAX6O/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004AXAX6OB004PLNIA4" jquery1299698286518="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Beth Mathison</span></a><a asin="B004AXAX6OB004PLNIA4" href="http://www.amazon.com/Mobsters-Toast-St-Patricks-ebook/dp/B004PLNIA4/ref=tag_dpp_lp_edpp_ttl_in#" jquery1299698286518="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span> </span><br />
<span jquery1299698286518="72"><span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Humor/Short Stories/Mysteries & Thrillers</span></span><br />
<br />
<span jquery1299698286518="72">For Jeremy, trying to be live a life outside of the "family business" isn't easy. First, there was the Thanksgiving dinner disaster of A MOBSTER'S GUIDE TO CRANBERRY SAUCE, followed by the Valentine's Day nightmare of A MOBSTER'S RECIPE FOR CUPCAKES. By now, you'd think he'd find somewhere to lay low when a holiday rolls around.<br />
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Unfortunately for Jeremy, it appears St. Patrick's Day is going to be another trouble-filled holiday. His girlfriend Carla may be leaving him, his cupcake business is in danger of shutting down and his attempt to drown his troubles in green beer is being interrupted by Harry and Charlie, two of the most inept members of his family's employees.<br />
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When the bartender's cousin shows up with "family business" of his own, Jeremy's pretty sure he's gotten himself in the middle of a situation that no four-leaf clover is going to fix. Can Jeremy survive another holiday, get his girl back and not be driven insane by Harry and Charlie?<br />
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This is the third in Beth Mathison's MOBSTER humorous, short story crime series.<script type="text/javascript">
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004G093HQ&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vestal-Virgin-ebook/dp/B004G093HQ?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Vestal Virgin</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Vestal-Virgin/Suzanne-Tyrpak/e/2940012045133/?itm=1&USRI=vestal+virgin">Nook</a> <br />
$13.95 (trade paperback)<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004G093HQ" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <span jquery1299809472950="85"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299809472950="84"><a asin="B003ZTP0J4B004G093HQ" href="http://www.amazon.com/Suzanne-Tyrpak/e/B003ZTP0J4/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB003ZTP0J4B004G093HQ" jquery1299809472950="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Suzanne Tyrpak</span></a><a asin="B003ZTP0J4B004G093HQ" href="http://www.amazon.com/Vestal-Virgin-ebook/dp/B004G093HQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299809456&sr=1-1#" jquery1299809472950="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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</script> <span class="byLinePipe"><span style="color: #666666;">(Author)</span></span>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_2?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Blake%20Crouch"><span style="color: #003399;">Blake Crouch</span></a> <span class="byLinePipe"><span style="color: #666666;">(Foreword)</span></span> </span><br />
<span jquery1299809472950="85"><span style="color: magenta;">Historical Fiction/Thriller/Suspense</span></span><br />
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<strong>Vestal Virgin--suspense in ancient Rome</strong> <br />
<div><b></b>Elissa Rubria Honoria is a Vestal Virgin--priestess of the sacred flame, a visionary, and one of the most powerful women in Rome. Vestals are sacrosanct, sworn to chastity on penalty of death, but the emperor, Nero, holds himself above the law. He pursues Elissa, engaging her in a deadly game of wits and sexuality. Or is Elissa really the pursuer? She stumbles on dark secrets. No longer trusting Roman gods, she follows a new god, Jesus of Nazareth, jeopardizing her life and the future of The Roman Empire.</div><div></div><div>Also by Suzanne Tyrpak: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/DATING-VIBRATOR-other-fiction-ebook/dp/B003XYFN5M/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299809885&sr=1-3">Dating My Vibrator</a> <strong>(and other true fiction) </strong>.99 cents – or buy it on <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012264251&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FDating-My-Vibrator%2FSuzanne-Tyrpak%2Fe%2F2940012264251&usg=AFHzDLufUGWZpUoplk3Wi1CWhvYPo5pjmQ&pubid=21000000000353156">Dating My Vibrator (and other true fiction)</a>">Nook</a> -- a collection of 9 short stories all based (unfortunately) on my own experience: dating, divorce, desperation—all that good stuff. Joe Konrath says, “Pure Comedic Brilliance.”</div><div></div><div><div>Here’s a link to my blog, “Who’s Imagining All This?” <a href="http://ghostplanestory.blogspot.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299808835_9">http://ghostplanestory.blogspot.com/</span></span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></div><div>My <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299808835_10">Facebook</span> Page: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Suzanne-Tyrpak/144232238928903?ref=ts" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299808835_11">http://www.facebook.com/pages/Suzanne-Tyrpak/144232238928903?ref=ts</span></span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></div><div>Amazon Author Page <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003ZTP0J4" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299808835_12">http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003ZTP0J4</span></span></a><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></div><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Farr-Point-ebook/dp/B004PYDIZ6?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Farr Point</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004PYDIZ6" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Sam%20Havens"><span style="color: #003399;">Sam Havens</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Contemporary Fiction/Coming of Age</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 18px;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012291769&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FFarr-Point%2FSam-Havens%2Fe%2F2940012291769&usg=AFHzDLsMsCv2_qUHIMwr3_4j2jjs4yUr3w&pubid=21000000000353156">Farr Point</a>">Barnes & Noble</a> </span></span></div><a href="http://www.farrpoint.posterous.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1299712836_0">http://www.farrpoint.posterous.com</span></a><br />
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The smell of oil is in the air, and so is murder, when eighteen-year-old Eddie Tipton arrives in a small Texas town with his widowed mother in 1950. Eddie and his teacher mother take rooms in the home of Texas oil widow, Faye Ruth Collier, leading to a surprising relationship between Eddie and Faye Ruth. Eddie spends time with handyman, Ned Cotton and soon learns that Mrs. Collier's late husband was murdered a few years earlier. Ned Cotton warns Eddie to stay away from Faye Ruth and to ignore the murder of Lawrence Collier. Eddie, of course, cannot resist.<br />
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Making his way in a new school, dodging the stigma of being the schoolteacher's son, succumbing to the lure of his middle-aged landlady, Eddie is embroiled in dangerous adventures on all fronts. And then, Eddie suffers a devastating loss that spurs him to ratchet up his quest for answers and leads to a near-fatal showdown. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004OEIT7E&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Apolo-Drakuvich-ebook/dp/B004OEIT7E?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Apolo Drakuvich</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004OEIT7E" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=G.W.%20Jefferies"><span style="color: #003399;">G.W. Jefferies</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Mysteries & Thrillers/Psychological Thrillers</span><br />
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“You do know why you're here, right? Sir, you're here<br />
because you’re a deviant to society” the pig spoke.<br />
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Apolo Drakuvich is a story full of weird and tragic events. Parasitic journalism runs wild and the media is not out to set things straight. A Judge steals millions from citizens and a former sheriff has no problem feeding fellow drug lords to the pigs when the deal goes bad. Personal gain is the name of the game. <br />
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Tag along on a trip into madness with Apolo Drakuvich. Flashbacks of horrendous times still haunt Apolo, a small time criminal trying to make it in life. Puzzled by the world around him, Drakuvich goes on a journey to seek peace of mind but not everything goes to plan. How far will Apolo go to get justice in a corrupt system?<br />
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Find your composure, don’t lose your mind.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004LGRYNK&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Spotted-Flower-Ponokomita-ebook/dp/B004LGRYNK?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Spotted Flower and the Ponokomita</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004LGRYNK" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by Kae Cheatham<br />
"Print book has been popular for 25+ years. Just went Kindle this year." <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Children's Books/Historical Fiction/Girls & Women</span><br />
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This middle-school chapter book takes place in the early 18th century, the time when American Indians of the Northern Plains got their first look at a horse (ponokomita). Accurate research tells about a lifestyle that existed thousands of years before the horse arrived to the area, and enhances the lively adventure of a young girl who comes across a horse and takes it back to her people.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004E3XUD8&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Searching-for-Meredith-Love-ebook/dp/B004E3XUD8?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Searching for Meredith Love</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004E3XUD8" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by <span jquery1299695536774="82"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299695536774="81"><a asin="B0046SSEKUB004E3XUD8" href="http://www.amazon.com/Julie-Christensen/e/B0046SSEKU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB0046SSEKUB004E3XUD8" jquery1299695536774="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Julie Christensen</span></a><a asin="B0046SSEKUB004E3XUD8" href="http://www.amazon.com/Searching-for-Meredith-Love-ebook/dp/B004E3XUD8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1299695524&sr=1-1-spell#" jquery1299695536774="30"><span class="contributorChevron" style="margin-left: 5px;"><span class="swSprite s_chevron"></span></span></a></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="color: magenta;">Contemporary Fiction/Literary Fiction</span><br />
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<div class="productDescriptionWrapper">Meredith Love thought her life was just fine. Fresh out of graduate school, she had a shiny new job in the medical office where she used to be a secretary. Sure, she didn’t really like all her co-workers, and yes, her bosses still asked her to drop everything to send a fax. And, okay, she had an irritatingly successful best friend who was always telling Meredith that her life sucked. But Meredith was content with her quiet life in Albuquerque, New Mexico. <br />
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Then Ben Abel, second-year medical resident, appears on the scene, and Meredith realizes that what happiness could be. Suddenly, her life looks as bad as her best friend always said and it's getting worse by the minute. Now Meredith, who's never been much of a superhero type, is going to have to learn how to fight for the life she wants instead of the life she's got. And even if she succeeds, a secret from her past could ruin everything.<br />
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</div><div class="productDescriptionWrapper"></div><div class="productDescriptionWrapper"></div><div class="productDescriptionWrapper"></div><div class="emptyClear"></div><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004N627U8&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wings-of-Evil-ebook/dp/B004N627U8?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Wings of Evil</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004N627U8" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=J%20R%20Tomlin"><span style="color: #003399;">J R Tomlin</span></a> <span class="byLinePipe"><span style="color: #666666;">(Author)</span></span>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_2?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=C%20R%20Daems"><span style="color: #003399;">C R Daems</span></a> <span class="byLinePipe"><span style="color: #666666;">(Author)</span></span> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Science Fiction & Fantasy/Teens/Adventures & Thrillers</span><br />
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All her life, Liada believed the First Ones were dangerous and to be feared. That was what the Priests had taught her. They lied. <br />
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Liada learns the truth after befriending Tali, a injured and helpless creature who is also a First One. Unfortunately, the Priests will stop at nothing to keep their secrets, including eliminating Liada. Her only chance is to flee into an neighboring empire while hunted by the Priests’ winged Quag—killers of the First Ones. <br />
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Help comes in the form of a mysterious ally.But can she trust him or could he be more dangerous than all of her enemies combined? <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003VYC7K8&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Godonism-ebook/dp/B003VYC7K8?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Godonism</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003VYC7K8" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Godonism-Theo-Von-Cezar/dp/1456552023?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Godonism</a> $10.81 Paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1456552023" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by Theo Von Cezar<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Religion & Spirituality/Science Fiction & Fantasy</span><br />
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The dystopian novel 'Godonism' is set in the year 159, Nebula Era - a future of dark and most volatile times - a time when people have to pawn their minds and other 'assets' in order to survive; and, at the peak of decadence, the falling of the ever lasting gold unexpectedly comes. <br />
The two eighteen-year-old, Ahma and Jovian, have no other choice but to start selling tickets for Hereafter. <br />
The novel 'Godonism' enters territory which has never been explored before. It is the book that brought atheism in fiction. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004M8S7WO&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Regret-ebook/dp/B004M8S7WO?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Regret</a> $1.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004M8S7WO" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by Dan Dawkins<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_2?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Jason%20Collins"><span style="color: #003399;">Jason Collins</span></a> Photographer<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Mysteries & Thrillers/Suspense/Crime Drama</span><br />
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Dan blamed himself for his wife's untimely death... at first, that is. <br />
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Dan, a newly published bestselling author has just begun to taste the good life: Money in the bank, house in a quiet neighborhood, beautiful wife. His monster of a fictional character--a wealthy, handsome, womanizing murderer--is the catalyst for Dan's good fortune, intriguing millions of readers. But when Dan sleeps with his agent on a business trip, and then confesses the whole thing to his wife in near tears, he sets off a chain of events that cause him to lose his wife and his grip on everything, including reality.<br />
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Fleeing his hometown in an attempt to outrun tormenting memories, Dan lands himself in a nearly forgotten small town in Oklahoma, taking up indefinite refuge in a Bed and Breakfast. While here, Dan's demons begin to prey on his mental instability, and the character that he's thrilled his readers with begins to come off the page and out into the flesh, sending shockwaves through the otherwise peaceful town, and giving Dan some interesting and horrific ideas on how to cope with his pain. <br />
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Find out more at: <a href="http://www.dandawkinsbooks.com/">http://www.dandawkinsbooks.com/</a><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004MYFT9C&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Murder-Pamela-Acoustic-Mystery-ebook/dp/B004MYFT9C?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">FM For Murder (Pamela Barnes Acoustic Mystery)</a> .99 cents Kindle <br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/FM-Murder-Patricia-Rockwell/dp/0984479546?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">FM For Murder</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0984479546" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004MYFT9C" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $11.21 Paperback<br />
by Patricia Rockwell<br />
<span style="color: blue;">The second in the Pamela Barnes acoustic mystery series</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Mysteries & Thrillers/Women Sleuths</span><br />
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Who shot the disk jockey while he was on air? No one saw the killer, but many heard the murder on the radio. Local police are mystified and ask Psychology professor and acoustics expert Pamela Barnes to assist them in investigating the crime. Can she determine who shot the deejay just by listening to the radio station’s audio recording of the killing? And how does this crime connect to the impending death of a wealthy carpet manufacturer hundreds of miles away? And the driven behavior of his conscientious son who hides a very important secret? Unknown to Pamela, another thread of this strange mystery is about to unravel. Will she be able to solve it before another victim is claimed? In FM FOR MURDER, the second in Patricia Rockwell's acoustic mystery series, we follow feisty amateur sleuth Pamela Barnes who doesn’t let academic duties prevent her from fighting crime. And Pamela fights crime with the tools she knows best—sound waves. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004OL2LBM&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/DEMON-DETAILS-Immortal-Protector-ebook/dp/B004OL2LBM?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">THE DEMON IS IN THE DETAILS (The Immortal Protector Series)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004OL2LBM" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
.99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
by Harris Channing<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Romantic Suspense/Romance</span><br />
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Stella Campbell has come back to Silverton, Georgia to bury her wicked witch of an aunt. But is she strong enough to endure what's to come? <br />
Zane Weathers has been around a long time, like, two thousand years. But he's never met anyone who touches his warrior soul, like Stella. <br />
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Together they must face not only personal obstacles, but obstacles straight from hell! <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003JMEJVM&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Live-Again-ebook/dp/B003JMEJVM?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Live Again</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003JMEJVM" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by L. R. Giles<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Horror/Dark Fantasy</span><br />
<a href="http://www.lrgiles.com/?page_id=601" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Download novels by L. R. Giles to your Kindle or Nook</a><br />
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<strong><span style="color: yellow;">An interview with L.R. Giles is on the Chair to Chair page</span></strong><br />
After a failed suicide attempt, widower Keith Lansing is finally getting his life back on track thanks to Live Again, a support group of men who have suffered losses similar to his own. But when the tragedy of the group’s newest member flattens them all, Keith finds himself back on a downward spiral.<br />
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Until he meets Simas.<br />
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This stranger offers Keith the opportunity of a lifetime--a way to call misdeal on the hand fate so cruelly dealt him--in the form of a simple question.<br />
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What if he could bring his wife back with no strings attached?<br />
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Keith jumps at the deal. Who wouldn't? But, while bringing back his wife held no repercussions, keeping her here may be another story all together. Because she didn’t return alone…<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004NIFSIY&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/3-17-ebook/dp/B004NIFSIY?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">3/17</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004NIFSIY" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by MaryPat Hyland<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Humor/Comic</span><br />
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This loose parody of Dante’s <em>Inferno</em>, four Irish traditional musicians get lost in the backwoods of upstate New York the week before St. Patrick’s Day. On the journey, the band descends through nine hellish circles of American-style 3/17 revelry: Step-dancing princesses. Bobbing shamrock headbangers. Green beer bacchanals. Shillelagh-wavin’ geezers.<br />
O’Fun … not!<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004PLNQ4C&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shifting-Fate-Chronicles-ebook/dp/B004PLNQ4C?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Shifting Fate (The Chronicles of Fate)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004PLNQ4C" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
by <span jquery1299686659153="73"><span class="contributorNameTrigger" jquery1299686659153="72"><a asin="B004QQGU8KB004PLNQ4C" href="http://www.amazon.com/Alexis-Leno/e/B004QQGU8K/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" id="contributorNameTriggerB004QQGU8KB004PLNQ4C" jquery1299686659153="29"><span style="color: #003399;">Alexis Leno</span></a></span></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Science Fiction & Fantasy/Epic</span><br />
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Times in the mystic realm of Lizon are changing. The Great War remains a distant past for many, but for others, the bleak past is all too clear. When the royal family of Alii is targeted, the kingdom's only Princess begins a quest to set things right. In a world completely controlled by fate, Brynn of Alii must fight against the Shifters, bent on altering the predestined future, to save the world she knows and secure destiny. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004OL26JY&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Soul-Quest-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B004OL26JY?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Soul Quest (The Soul Quest Trilogy)</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004OL26JY" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by Amy Jones<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Fantasy/YA/Science Fiction</span><br />
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Do you remember how horrified you were about the idea of attending high school? I remember ticking off those last miserable days of my summer vacation following my eighth grade year. Maybe you don’t, maybe you were one of 'those people.' You know who I’m talking about, people like Melissa Small, the distinguished District Attorney, Larry Small’s daughter, popular, gorgeous... and absolutely terrifying to someone like me, Liv Glyn. No, I am far from measuring up to the standards required to make Melissa’s crowd. I’m not even close. I’m just a simple man’s daughter, mostly tolerated by my peers with average looks. If this isn’t depressing enough for you, stay tuned, it gets worse. I was commanded with Spirit at birth by the Great Spirit, Hala. I know, it sounds crazy but it’s true. If you think it's difficult being a teenager, try being a teenager who was born destined to save the world from soul sucking Daevas and their mutant progeny Aengels. There are four of us. My companions of Spirit are Laith, Brayan and Meena. Melissa Small is Laith’s step sister and she is always meddling where she doesn’t belong, further complicating our lives. To make matters even worse, my best friend Jedd is apparently aware of things that are typically undetectable to ordinary humans. So, I have to lie to Jedd, the boy who has been my constant standby since the third grade, to shield him from the horrible and very dangerous truth. Did I mention that I think I’m falling in love with him? The term awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it, trust me. Welcome to the mess that is my life. <br />
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<img class="ecxphoto" src="http://cdn.freado.com/cdn/book/signature/8884/f96f40bdb8cb393c6e35be1f7464e339.gif" style="float: left; margin-right: 4px;" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Look-Our-Mother-Father-ebook/dp/B004FN1V4C?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Look for Our Mother and Our Father</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004FN1V4C" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $3.00 Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Look-Our-Mother-Father/dp/0692009248?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Look for Our Mother and Our Father</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0692009248" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $14.25 Paperback<br />
by Anonymous <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Nonfiction/Self-Help/Spiritual/Health</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">"This book questions everything we think we know, everything we think we have learned through the natural and social sciences, every theory proposed by our philosophers and theologians, and everything taught to us by our culture."<br />
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Imagine you have spent your life in the middle of a dust storm, and the air finally clears. Suddenly you see that every step you thought was a step forward was actually a step backward, and you are not where you thought you were. Imagine you can clearly see things now that you had not even realized were distorted, because you were accustomed to the way everything looked in the middle of that cloud of dust…<br />
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Here is a sad tale of a culture that thought it was the most advanced, enlightened culture ever – but wasn’t. The author takes a concrete look at our lifestyle, our values, our spirituality, and our beliefs and shows us that we are not where we think we are. Wouldn’t you like to be able to see your life clearly, without clouds of dust blocking your view?<br />
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This book provides a new perspective that will allow people to re-evaluate their lives and re-think everything they think they know. Ignorance is easy, but our responsibility is to seek wisdom. For all those who feel disconnected, who wonder about the meaning of life, or who feel like there must be something more, this panoramic view of our culture will provide some interesting answers and a whole new way to see the big picture.<br />
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Many people examine one aspect of our society and find fault – our politics, our educational system, or our treatment of mental diseases (for example) – but no other book looks at the whole and shows how everything works together.<br />
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Here is your invitation to step outside of the dust storm, to see a view you never imagined. The author makes no claim to objectivity, but, as you’ll see, a subjective view can offer great insight. So come along on a journey to look for our Mother and our Father… </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1728418038535144456.post-11796168004069527662011-02-20T14:21:00.105-05:002011-03-22T21:29:58.004-04:00Cozy Corner Books<strong><span style="color: blue;">If you are a writer and would like your book added to the list, email me at <a href="mailto:breezeemc@yahoo.com">breezeemc@yahoo.com</a> with a request*. Or just fill out the form at the bottom of the page. Please enter "list my book" in the subject line of your email or in the "Organization" box on the form. A small snippet/description of 300 words or less can also be added to the link and book cover. For a quick request, just send a link to your book and I'll find it on Amazon. If you would like to be a Featured Author, follow the instructions on the Featured Author Page.</span></strong><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=thec0a7-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B00403N1TU&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eels-Reverence-ebook/dp/B00403N1TU?ie=UTF8&tag=thec0a7-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Eel's Reverence</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=thec0a7-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B00403N1TU" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $2.99 Kindle Edition<br />
by Marian Allen<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Fantasy</span><br />
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When elderly priest of Micah, "Aunt" Libby, goes on a Final Wandering, she's accosted and then befriended by an amphibious mugger. The area known as The Eel is infested with worse than minor criminals--it's under the thumbs of a coalition of greedy, brutal priests. Aunt Libby is a frail barrier to stand between peace and violence, and the worst violence may not come from her enemies...but from her friends.<br />
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<strong><span style="color: blue;"><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0040GJI9O&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe></span></strong><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dancing-With-Spirits-ebook/dp/B0040GJI9O?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Dancing With Spirits</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0040GJI9O" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> .99 cents (Kindle Edition)<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dancing-Spirits-Carol-Arnall/dp/0956156401?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Dancing with Spirits</a> $18.99 Paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0956156401" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940011116704&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FDancing-with-Spirits%2FCarol-Arnall%2Fe%2F2940011116704&usg=AFHzDLuwNuMQ0sLtDwGGH3C3gl9ullvQog&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/81050000/81058224.JPG"/></a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=9780956156402&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FDancing-With-Spirits%2FCarol-Arnall%2Fe%2F9780956156402&usg=AFHzDLvBaetQgJWg-z_TOaT_UJe1kWbmXg&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/40860000/40862389.JPG"/></a>">Barnes & Noble Paperback</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/24692?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<span style="color: blue;">by Carol Arnall</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Fantasy/Time Travel</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"> <span style="color: black;">A love story that spans the centuries. The story begins prehistory at a settlement in Rugeley, Cannock Chase. A young girl, Elvaennia, goes in search of her missing lover. By a freak accident she finds herself in the 21st Century, and quickly discovers her 'lost love' has also time travelled to this century. Determined to find him, she sets out on a journey that leads her to discover that her family back at the settlement face great danger, and she determines to help them. This in turn leads her into the celebrity limelight. She realises that tough decisions will have to be made. Will the temptations of the 21st Century prove too much for Elvaennia and Deimuiss, or will the old ways and values lead them back to the settlement? Her exciting sequel can also be found on Amazon.com at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Spirits-of-the-Lights-ebook/dp/B00418469S?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Spirits of the Lights</a> <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B00418469S" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />. Both are also available at Amazon.com.uk.</span></span><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B00418469S&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Spirits-of-the-Lights-ebook/dp/B00418469S?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Spirits of the Lights</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B00418469S" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/SPIRITS-LIGHTS-Carol-Arnall/dp/0956156436?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">SPIRITS OF THE LIGHTS</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0956156436" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $16.50 Paperback<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK Paperback</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=9780956156433&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FSpirits-of-the-Lights%2FCarol-Arnall%2Fe%2F9780956156433&usg=AFHzDLvsB1qsEnOfk4sjNag0AmbhNSixRQ&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/95190000/95199041.JPG"/></a>">B & N Paperback</a> <br />
by Carol Arnall<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Fantasy/Time Travel</span><br />
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Elvaennia discovers that the path to finding love is not easy when a misunderstanding between her and her lover Deimuiss leads him to travel to the 21st century, leaving Elvaennia behind in prehistory with Mark, a time traveller actually from the 21st century. Knowing her family and the other settlers are in danger of being killed by their enemies, Elvaennia persuades them to return with her to the 21st century, Mark also returns with her, hoping to win her love. <br />
Will Elvaennia find Deimuiss and free him from her rival Caroline’s clutches? Or will she settle down with Steve her television producer, or Julius, the Roman soldier?<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mysterious-Happenings-ebook/dp/B0041846KM?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Mysterious Happenings</a> <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0041846KM" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />.99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mysterious-Happenings-Carol-Arnall/dp/0956156428?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Mysterious Happenings</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0956156428" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $20.50 Paperback <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/19370?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK Paperback</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940011069451&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FMysterious-Happenings%2FCarol-Arnall%2Fe%2F2940011069451&usg=AFHzDLuZYfD4JsPr0mLDtBWMQ2pdF-gleg&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/78380000/78386990.JPG"/></a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=9780956156426&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FMysterious-Happenings%2FCarol-Arnall%2Fe%2F9780956156426&usg=AFHzDLsSh6JLFscqUFJRwTMpmQcQmxyEfQ&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/53680000/53686320.JPG"/></a>">B & N Paperback</a><br />
by Carol Arnall<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">New Age/Mysticism/Spiritualism</span><br />
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Mysterious Happenings is packed full of ghost and other paranormal stories. True stories told to me by people who had nothing to gain in the telling of their experiences <br />
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Also by Carol Arnall:<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Choosing-Your-Psychic-Pathway-ebook/dp/B0045OUPBG?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Choosing Your Psychic Pathway</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0045OUPBG" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/CHOOSING-PSYCHIC-PATHWAY-Carol-Arnall/dp/0956156452?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">CHOOSING YOUR PSYCHIC PATHWAY</a> $16.50 Paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0956156452" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Birmingham-Girls-ebook/dp/B003YDXJO4?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Birmingham Girls</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003YDXJO4" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> .99 cents Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Birmingham-Girls-Carol-Arnall/dp/095615641X?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Birmingham Girls</a> $13.50 Paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=095615641X" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK Paperback</a><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940011082146&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FBirmingham-Girls%2FCarol-Arnall%2Fe%2F2940011082146&usg=AFHzDLvxbaueMVSEvi4pecSG-kjjB0BQRg&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/78380000/78387026.JPG"/></a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/18671?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a> <br />
by Carol Arnall<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Biographies/Memoirs</span><br />
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This book tells the story of our early lives in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, where we lived in a back-to-back house with our mother. Our father deserted Mom before I was born. She had a desperate struggle bringing us up during and after the war until she remarried. <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Johnny-Oops-ebook/dp/B0041KL52M?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Johnny Oops</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Johnny-Oops-Charlatan-Manic-Prophet/dp/1450527159?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Johnny Oops: Charlatan, Sex Manic or Prophet, is Johnny Real</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1450527159" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $13.45 Paperback <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK Paperback</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940011106071&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FJohnny-Oops%2FArthur-Levine%2Fe%2F2940011106071&usg=AFHzDLtFhRSPDjvefnLPevwS_BsPjGpY9Q&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/78380000/78388610.JPG"/></a>">Nook</a> <br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=9781450527156&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FJohnny-Oops%2FArthur-J-Levine%2Fe%2F9781450527156&usg=AFHzDLta4hfZ3RGFQP-Qc3xwUzO7fJDDfg&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/84710000/84710081.JPG"/></a>">B & N Paperback</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/24237?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1450527159" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by Arthur Levine<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0041KL52M" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Fantasy</span><br />
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Johnny doesn't know if he's a prophet, a charlatan or a sex maniac. He doesn't even know if he's real. but he's convinced he has the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1298413607_0" style="border-bottom: #366388 2px dotted; cursor: hand;">word of God</span> to deliver. Johnny Oops, the rocket fuel of captivating fiction.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004O0UA1Q&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Model-Agent-Thriller-Snapshot-ebook/dp/B004O0UA1Q?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Model Agent: A Thriller (Jaclyn Johnson, code name Snapshot series)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004O0UA1Q" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
$2.99 <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012657800&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FBookSearch%2Fe%2F2940012657800&usg=AFHzDLuXw-O_53s27Z9t4OWc_odv9kE08Q&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/97220000/97226707.JPG"/></a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42673?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
by Sean Sweeney <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Mysteries and Thrillers/Spy Stories/Tales of Intrigue</span><br />
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The human body consists of two-thirds water.<br />
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As concertgoers on a steamy day in Boston find out, water can kill as much as it gives life.<br />
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A terrorist attack at City Hall Plaza has the authorities perplexed. The government, in response, sends in a capable but young agent – an agent born from the ashes of terrorism itself – to handle it.<br />
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But as her partner dies and the terrorist strikes again, Jaclyn Johnson – code named Snapshot – finds herself in a situation she has trained a decade to face: She’s up against a man with enough money to finance a war against his competition. With a deadline in place to stop him – and with a car holding enough hidden tricks to evade capture – Snapshot infiltrates his hidden installation and finds out her target’s true end game, a secret that could have the world fighting over water.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003B66AQI&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/A-Galaxy-At-War-ebook/dp/B003B66AQI?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">A Galaxy At War</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003B66AQI" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> .99cents Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a><br />
by John Fitch V <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012004802&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FA-Galaxy-At-War%2FJohn-Fitch-V%2Fe%2F2940012004802&usg=AFHzDLtcux82_hKKehtnweDXNmeb2PtWBw&pubid=21000000000353156">A Galaxy At War</a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=9781451530421&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FA-Galaxy-at-War%2FJohn-Fitch-V%2Fe%2F9781451530421&usg=AFHzDLv8_7q1TFW3HS5VxUAjEgCt99BS_w&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/94500000/94507093.JPG"/></a>">B & N Paperback</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/10722?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Science Fiction/Adventure</span><br />
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Captain Ryann Germayne, son of the legendary Jaxson "Hot Shot" Germayne, has been living up to his late father's reputation. He is the best pilot the Galaxy of Free Systems "GFS" has. His equally talented first mate gunner, Joslyne, happens to also be his wife. They feel secure in the knowledge that should the end come during battle, they would perish together.<br />
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Some believe that the GFS has grown too large, too bureaucratic for the regular person across the galaxy. This small group of rebels is slowly, but steadily, growing in numbers. Brit Hyram, the overall head of the Rebellion, is the public face of the secessionist movement. Though idealistic, neither he, nor any other within the Rebellion, has any real understanding of military tactics. The simulators used to train new recruits are woefully outdated. Therefore, the GFS pilots have little trouble winning the skirmishes on land or in space. But then the Rebellion suddenly has a blast cannon on their side.<br />
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President GreensteenJoslyne defect.<br />
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The Rebel Secessionist Movement is thrilled to have the best GFS pilot and gunner team join their cause. The new duo will have to earn the trust of Hyram and the other leaders, but they are put to work immediately. Joslyne's expertise is used to update simulators for target practice and the like. Ryann begins teaching military maneuvers to the pilots and updating the equipment on all the ships.<br />
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Joslyne still has doubts about what they are doing. As Ryann rises in rank and power at lightning speed, he begins to change. Even personally executing former friends and comrades no longer seems to bother Ryann. Joslyne soon wonders to what lengths her husband would go, how low he would sink, and how cold blooded he would become for his new beliefs. And can she continue to stand beside the man he is morphing into?<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B002UUT3VK&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Turning-Back-The-Clock-ebook/dp/B002UUT3VK?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Turning Back The Clock</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B002UUT3VK" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a><br />
by John Fitch V <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012004789&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FTurning-Back-The-Clock%2FJohn-Fitch-V%2Fe%2F2940012004789&usg=AFHzDLv9lnXfkNwDuWSsdPvJ7SIzpFMeTw&pubid=21000000000353156">Turning Back The Clock</a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=9781449545086&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FTurning-Back-the-Clock%2FJohn-Fitch%2Fe%2F9781449545086&usg=AFHzDLt47SnGVsR-3oQyJeBeBWWMY9_Cmw&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/51470000/51477532.JPG"/></a>">B & N Paperback</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/8266?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Action & Adventure/Time Travel/Baseball</span><br />
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Greg Patterson just watched his beloved Boston Red Sox lose to the New York Yankees in the 2003 American League Championship Series when he gets a radical idea: Build a time machine to make sure that one of baseball history's worst sales -- the sale of Babe Ruth -- never happens. But as he's researching out that fateful event, he runs along another piece of information that he had never known.<br />
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It leads him to ask: What if the Black Sox Scandal never happened? Could the scandal that rocked the baseball world in the early 1920s and the sale of the Sultan of Swat be connected? And if it’s possible, can these two incidents be reversed in order to correct the failings of the Red Sox and end the recent domination of the Yankees? <br />
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Greg and his friend Brandon Roy build the time machine and immediately head back to 1919, where they meet Harry Frazee, Shoeless Joe Jackson, Buck Weaver, Charlie Comiskey, and the catalyst of the whole thing, Babe Ruth. Greg also falls in love in the past, making for an exciting conclusion to their time in 1919 Boston. <br />
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If you're a fan of baseball and baseball history, this is a book you'll want in your Kindle's memory bank. A great story that will stand the test of time. And you won't look at baseball history the same way, either. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B002LE70YM&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/One-Hero-A-Savior-ebook/dp/B002LE70YM?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">One Hero, A Savior</a> $1.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B002LE70YM" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <br />
by John Fitch V <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012004840&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FOne-HeroA-Savior%2FJohn-Fitch-V%2Fe%2F2940012004840&usg=AFHzDLshUCkFDXMC0C0K_0SK1cFk7f1Ptg&pubid=21000000000353156">One Hero,A Savior</a>">Nook</a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fantasy/Christianity/YA/Baseball</span><br />
<br />
Preston Davis is an all-around Boston guy. He loves his Red Sox, and he also loves his fantasy stories. He is also a recently-converted Christian whose newest fantasy land -- Arida -- is based upon his love of fantasy and Christian teachings, with himself as Arden, the land's God. However, Urcin -- the evil one -- is drawing many of Arden's followers away from the light.<br />
<br />
Yet Preston knows nothing of this -- until he is transported to his land following a car crash, and it is up to him to save the land.<br />
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With the help of his halfling followers and a cast of others, Preston journeys to The Dragon's Teeth to face off with Urcin in a battle of Good vs. Evil, with Arida the prize to the victor. <br />
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Also by John Fitch V:<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sidetracked-A-Short-Story-ebook/dp/B00466HSMW?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Sidetracked: A Short Story</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B00466HSMW" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Amber-Twilight-Short-Story-ebook/dp/B0046LUZPO?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Amber Twilight: A Short Story</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0046LUZPO" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vuvuzombie-ebook/dp/B0047GMFFG?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Vuvuzombie</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0047GMFFG" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $1.99 Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Mastermind-A-novella-ebook/dp/B004FGN6O2?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Mastermind: A novella</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Obloeron-Return-Labergator-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B003C1QMR4?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Obloeron: The Return to Labergator (The Obloeron Trilogy)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003C1QMR4" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $2.99 Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Obloeron-Fall-Myrindar-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B003C1QMVA?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Obloeron: The Fall of Myrindar (The Obloeron Trilogy)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003C1QMVA" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $2.99 Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Obloeron-Trilogy-John-Fitch-V/dp/1450546714?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Obloeron Trilogy</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1450546714" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $24.95 Paperback<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004089EH8&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Love-Means-Nothin-ebook/dp/B004089EH8?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Love Means Nothin'</a> .99 cents <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/22054?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004089EH8" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by Markee Anderson<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Contemporary/Romance</span><br />
<br />
Melody Gray visits New York City for her best friend’s wedding, meeting tennis pro John Spencer at the train station, stopping him from running away. She wishes she could stay with him instead of returning to her abusive father in West Virginia. But her father needs her to take care of him and John's mother hates Melody. She has to leave the man she loves, to go back to her lonely life.<br />
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Priced low for people to afford, it's approximately 265 pages in length. Written in third person--romance. <br />
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<br />
<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004089EJG&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Touchdowns-And-Potions-ebook/dp/B004089EJG?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Touchdowns And Potions</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004089EJG" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> .99 cents <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940011092176&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FTouchdowns-And-Potions%2FMarkee-Anderson%2Fe%2F2940011092176&usg=AFHzDLsh7jiIhoPDmXnzoDZX--wb7mlAHQ&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/79420000/79425198.JPG"/></a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/22056?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
by Markee Anderson<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Contemporary/Romance</span><br />
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Real estate agent Jenna Steele has to sell pro quarterback Andy McKnight’s huge home. She hates professional athletes. When he convinces her he does have a heart, she falls in love with the man. There’s only one problem—Jenna’s been splashed with a love potion and now men are falling at her feet. Once the potion wears off, Andy will be gone and she’ll be forced to find another job out of state to get away from the paparazzi.<br />
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Priced low for people to afford, it's approximately 243 pages in length. Written in third person--romance. <br />
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<br />
<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0040ZNRVK&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dating-Spy-Isnt-Games-ebook/dp/B0040ZNRVK?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Dating A Spy Isn't All Fun And Games</a> .99 cents <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940011093999&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FDating-A-Spy-Isnt-All-Fun-And-Games%2FMarkee-Anderson%2Fe%2F2940011093999&usg=AFHzDLuC8Js4ij55SNTkYwnDEQ38SHwJLg&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/79560000/79569571.JPG"/></a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/22664?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0040ZNRVK" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
By Markee Anderson<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Contemporary/Romance/Mystery</span><br />
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Ex-beauty queen contestant Lauren McDonald is thrust into the spy underworld when her boyfriend's job starts to seep into his personal life, making her the conduit for the transfer of information from one enemy to another. Her life can never be the same again when she agrees to marry her boyfriend and become an agent, just to save her life and the United States. But the odds are against her, and those dreams of a peaceful married life go right out the window when she finds out the true mission of the enemy.<br />
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Priced low for people to afford, it's approximately 336 pages in length. Written in first person POV--mystery. <br />
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Other wonderful works by Markee Anderson: <br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Saved-Glass-Slipper-ebook/dp/B0040ZNRR4?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Saved By The Glass Slipper</a> .99 cents <a href="http://www.amazon.com/All-For-Aaron-ebook/dp/B003Y5H8S0?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">All For Aaron</a> .99 cents<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Halloween-Collection-Anthology-Sweet-ebook/dp/B0044DEOCY?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">A Halloween Collection Anthology: Sweet</a> $3.99 <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/A-Christmas-Collection-Sweet-ebook/dp/B004AYD662?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">A Christmas Collection: Sweet</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004AYD662" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $3.99 <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003OIBMTS&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/SEAMS16-A-New-Home-ebook/dp/B003OIBMTS?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">SEAMS16: A New Home</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003OIBMTS" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> .99 cents Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/SEAMS16-Home-Eric-B-Thomasma/dp/1451560044?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">SEAMS16: A New Home</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1451560044" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $ 12.99 Paperback <br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/pdp/profile/A1UU89CD4BFDTD/ref=cm_cd_et_pdp" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: #004b91;">Eric B. Thomasma</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Science Fiction/Fantacy/Adventure</span><br />
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Charlie and Susan Samplin make a new home for themselves on the finest repair depot in space. On the Space Equipment Authority's Maintenance Station 16, Charlie discovers that he has a natural talent for the station's favorite pastime, Zeegee, a zero gravity sport. He also finds satisfaction professionally when his skills as a technician are finally allowed to shine. Susan finds life on the station stimulating too, as she makes many new friends, including Station Director Sureenon and his wife, Penny.<br />
But soon, a series of mysterious mishaps occur in seemingly unrelated systems, one of which results in the death of a co-worker. Charlie suspects the one person he doesn't get along with, but others disagree. The mishaps stop as mysteriously as they started-for a time-but when an old friend comes aboard they begin again, leading to the discovery of a device that can only be alien technology. But who brought it on board and why? Join Charlie and Susan as they work together with new friends and old to solve the mystery and discover<br />
A New Home<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003OIBMWU&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/SEAMS16-Arrival-ebook/dp/B003OIBMWU?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">SEAMS16: Arrival</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/SEAMS16-Arrival-Eric-B-Thomasma/dp/1451581823?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">SEAMS16: Arrival (Volume 2)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1451581823" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $12.99 Paperback<br />
by Eric B. Tomasma<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Science Fiction/Fantacy/Adventure</span><br />
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Picking up where A New Home left off...<br />
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Charlie and Susan are shocked when the confession is thrown out. Director Sureenon convinces the judge that the alien devices should not be removed from the station, but the judge then orders that the trial be held on SEAMS16.<br />
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Preparations are made and just as the trial is about to begin, a massive alien ship appears, disrupting a long awaited Zeegee match. But they haven't come for repairs...<br />
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News of the aliens travels fast, bringing an unannounced visit from the S.E.A. Director of Security. With all of these arrivals, can Charlie and Susan handle one more?<br />
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Prepare for Arrival. <br />
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Also by Eric B. Tomasma: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sam-And-The-Dragon-ebook/dp/B003OIBGTO?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Sam And The Dragon</a> see it in the Kiddie Corner<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004CFAP0O&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003OIBGTO" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Youve-Got-Mail-Japan-ebook/dp/B004CFAP0O?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">You've Got Mail from Japan</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004CFAP0O" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a><br />
by Kristie Leigh Maguire <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012197146&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FYouve-Got-Mail-from-Japan%2FKristie-Leigh-Maguire%2Fe%2F2940012197146&usg=AFHzDLsi1VDrkKGvLVUcl_Bzkz5IcDVcIQ&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/97510000/97519200.JPG"/></a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/30291?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Biographies/Memoirs/Travel</span><br />
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Margie and Sandy, two American expatriate women, meet and become friends while living in Saudi Arabia. After their husbands' assignments were completed, both women returned to their homes in the United States: Margie to Nevada and Sandy to Texas. Margie soon accompanies her husband on to his next assignment to Japan while Sandy remains at home surrounded by her family and friends.<br />
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Some things are very private--diaries, phone calls, letters, and emails between friends. You've Got Mail</em> from Japan</em> lifts that veil of privacy. This book contains actual emails exchanged between Margie and Sandy, with all the 'warts' and misspellings as they were written, on an almost daily basis over the course of a year. The writing is real and down to earth, as only emails between good friends can be. <br />
<br />
Step into Margie and Sandy's world. Follow their incredible, somewhat quirky and offbeat journey as it actually happened. Share their times of joy, times of sadness, times of highs, and times of lows. The friendship between these two women shines from the pages and you feel as if you have eavesdropped on a private conversation, but accidentally, and then they smile at you and welcome you into their circle of friendship.<br />
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One reader stated, "I love this book! It is like I have broken into someone's computer, hacked their email, and now I am looking at all the juicy details...wow, this is fun!"<br />
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NOTE: This book is not a travel guidebook.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Second-Chances-Revised-Edition-ebook/dp/B0035WTN4Y?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Second Chances - Revised Edition</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0035WTN4Y" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $2.99 Kindle Edition <br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012670656&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FBookSearch%2Fe%2F2940012670656&usg=AFHzDLtJVIaWoYKIM0GdB-cstaQ_6hm1PQ&pubid=21000000000353156">Second Chances - Revised Edition</a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/9123?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a> <br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Second-Chances-Revised-Kristie-Maguire/dp/1935188135?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Second Chances, Revised Edition</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1935188135" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $11.99 Paperback<br />
by Kristie Leigh Maguire<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Contemporary/Western/Romance</span><br />
<br />
** NOTE: Customers who purchased the original version of Second Chances</em> can contact Amazon Customer Service Department to have Second Chances - Revised Edition delivered manually to your Kindle. To contact Amazon customer service via phone or e-mail, click the "Contact Us" button on any Amazon Help page (amazon.com/help). **<br />
<br />
Jane Porter's dreams of marrying Mike Farley, the handsome cowboy who lives on the neighboring ranch, are shattered when Mike suddenly marries a redheaded stranger he met at the Wild Horse Saloon in Casper, Wyoming. After Mike stomped all over Jane's heart with his cowboy boots, can Jane ever trust her heart to a man again?<br />
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Mike Farley marries beautiful Samantha Jo Smith after a whirlwind courtship with no thought to Jane Porter, his childhood sweetheart and the woman everyone in Fremont County thought he would marry one day. Mike soon learns to regret his hasty marriage to Samantha. Can Mike win back Jane's heart even though he had shattered it into a million pieces? <br />
<br />
Longtime friends and neighbors Jim Porter and Liz Farley turn to each other for support after the unexpected death of their spouses. Will Jim and Liz's friendship turn into something deeper even though they both feel they have had, and lost, their chance at love?<br />
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Is it ever too late for love? Is it ever too late for second chances?<br />
<br />
Set in rural Wyoming, Second Chances is a sweet contemporary western romance that will warm your heart. One reader stated, "I read it through in an evening, and felt as if I had spent that evening with 'salt of the earth' folk." Another reader said, "I loved the double, no triple, second chances. It was a very sweet ending." <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/No-Lady-Her-Tramp-ebook/dp/B003TU2IMG?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">No Lady and Her Tramp</a> <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003TU2IMG" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />$2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a><br />
by Kristie Leigh Maguire <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940012232717&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FBookSearch%2Fe%2F2940012232717&usg=AFHzDLvIPj2mDYUx6u6BY8CeEClm7LdgEA&pubid=21000000000353156">No Lady and Her Tramp</a>">Nook</a> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/17930?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Romance/Humor</span><br />
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A quirky hysterically hilarious read that is down and dirty!<br />
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The steamy, very descriptive sex in No Lady and Her Tramp puts Harold Robbins’ books to shame. The one thing Mr. Robbins’ books did not have is the humor that illuminates in this work of art.<br />
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No Lady is one woman’s accounting of the trials, tribulations, and antics of her life, and all of the other colorful characters (some even use the politically incorrect term of trailer trash to describe them) who live in President Park, a run down trailer park in Grapevine, Kentucky. <br />
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You may find the palms of your hands sweat, among other things, from the titillating sex that fill the pages. You will also find yourself laughing aloud, as humor runs consistently throughout the book.<br />
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These two authors, Kristie Leigh Maguire and Mark Haeuser, by putting their talents together, have written a very funny book laced with pure, unadulterated steam.<br />
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Also by Kristie Leigh Maguire:<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Desert-Heat-Affairs-Heart-ebook/dp/B003M0OXLW?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Desert Heat: Affairs of the Heart (Book One)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003M0OXLW" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" />$2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cscript%20type=%22text/javascript%22%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/s/link-enhancer?tag=thecozcorrear-21&o=2">">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940000891193&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FDesert-Heat%2FKristie-Leigh-Maguire%2Fe%2F2940000891193&usg=AFHzDLvuJ-94IWXT-BaAkJnzx8qJCQvJOQ&pubid=21000000000353156"><img src="http://images.barnesandnoble.com/images/79260000/79264644.JPG"/></a>">Smashwords</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cabin-Fever-Affairs-Heart-ebook/dp/B003MNGHO0?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Cabin Fever: Affairs of the Heart (Book Two)</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003MNGHO0" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/14831?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Affairs-Heart-Kristie-Leigh-Maguire/dp/1932993673?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Affairs of the Heart</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1932993673" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $18.96 Paperback<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/An-Unassigned-Life-ebook/dp/B004O0U232?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">An Unassigned Life</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004O0U232" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42608?ref=Breezee1">Smashwords</a><br />
by Susan Wells Bennett<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Horror/Ghosts/Humor</span><br />
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Frustrated novelist Tim Chase just thought of the best plot idea he has had in three years. The problem is he's dead.<br />
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Now he's stuck in the afterlife as an unassigned soul with two goals in mind: getting his last and greatest novel published and moving on.<br />
<br />
Why can George see me? he thought. Pulling the El Pad from his pocket, he read the answer:<br />
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Some living humans, particularly those suffering from a chemical imbalance of the brain, are able to see and interact with you. Unfortunately, this imbalance frequently leads others to label these individuals as insane.<br />
Great, he thought. If I want to hang out in an asylum, I can have all the company I want.<br />
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Yes, answered the El Pad. <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Prophets-Wives-ebook/dp/B004J4X8HU?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Prophet's Wives</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition <a href="http://gan.doubleclick.net/gan_click?lid=41000000012871747&pid=2940011089107&adurl=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.barnesandnoble.com%2FThe-Prophets-Wives%2FSusan-Wells-Bennett%2Fe%2F2940011089107&usg=AFHzDLtdEtpsRh5-jDjuVJNQxUiAH-rQEg&pubid=21000000000353156">Nook</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Prophets-Wives-Susan-Wells-Bennett/dp/1456557602?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Prophet's Wives</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1456557602" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004J4X8HU" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $12.99 Paperback<br />
by Susan Wells Bennett<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Contemporary Fiction/Drama/Theater</span><br />
<br />
I helped Lazarus build LLW Seminars into the self-help empire it is today. I served as his personal assistant and travel companion for fifteen years, and I was treated like royalty everywhere we went. Over the years, we acquired some Hollywood devotees, so he and I went to more than a few movie premieres as honored guests. Even though we lived in San Diego, I did most of my shopping on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. We were invited to all the best parties, enjoyed fabulous seats at any event we wanted to go to, and had a beautiful, modern three-story house on Coronado Island, not far from the Hotel Del Coronado. It was a far cry from where I’d grown up.<br />
<br />
Even though my father had done better than a lot of his contemporaries, he was still just a big fish in a little pond: just a car salesman in the middle of the desert. And of course he was supporting a lot of family. Even as successful as he was, my four siblings and I never thought of ourselves as rich. There were no nannies or maids or chauffeurs; Mom did all the cooking and we kids served as the cleanup crew. I was responsible for the bathrooms, which meant that I had to wipe up my brothers’ inaccuracies around the toilets. It was a disgusting job, and one that my older sister Heidi had thrust upon me when I’d turned eight.<br />
<br />
* * * * *<br />
Lazarus Dale can teach you how to reach your full potential through his Learning to Listen Well seminars. You, too, can have a beautiful wife, a successful career, a stylish mansion -- all you have to do is follow his instructions for a perfect life.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004CFBIIC&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Circle-City-Blues-ebook/dp/B004CFBIIC?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Circle City Blues</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004CFBIIC" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Circle-Blues-Susan-Wells-Bennett/dp/1456419153?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Circle City Blues</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1456419153" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $12.99 Paperback<br />
by Susan Wells Bennett<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"></span><span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Contemporary Fiction</span><br />
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When the love of his life leaves him for an online knight, Declan "Mac" MacDougal moves through the seven stages of grief while crisscrossing America: rescuing damsels, advising the lovelorn, reading fantasy fiction and trying to decide where he wants to pull of the road and live his life again. On the way he loses his best friend, a set of wedding rings, his money and possibly his mind, but learns the road to recovery is the next exit after The Circle City Blues. <br />
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Also by Susan Wells Bennett:<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Thief-Todays-Tomorrows-ebook/dp/B004FV58RK?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Thief of Todays and Tomorrows</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004FV58RK" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $2.99 Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Thief-Todays-Tomorrows-Susan-Bennett/dp/1456477803?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Thief of Todays and Tomorrows</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1456477803" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $12.99 Paperback<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0018KVLFY&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pirate-Puritan-ebook/dp/B0018KVLFY?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Pirate And The Puritan</a> $4.80<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0018KVLFY" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pirate-Puritan-Mary-Clayton/dp/1601541198?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Pirate and The Puritan</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1601541198" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $14.32 Paperback<br />
by Mary Clayton<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Historical Romance</span><br />
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1704 â€" Dangerous times, when the colonies of the Americas are threatened by Queen Anne’s War. It is not the French but a pirate who captures Mercy Penhall, mute Puritan spinster. In fear for her life and virtue yet drawn to the captain in spite of herself, Mercy has unknowingly begun on a course of adventure, heartbreak that will test her courage to the utmost. And in the end the secret she carries in her soul threatens to prevent even the small chance of happiness inherent in an impossible love.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B001MWRQTS&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Blueprint-For-Love-ebook/dp/B001MWRQTS?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Blueprint For Love</a> $4.80 Kindle Edition<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B001MWRQTS" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Blueprint-Love-Monya-Clayton/dp/160154345X?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Blueprint For Love</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=160154345X" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $11.99 Paperback<br />
by Monya Clayton<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Contemporary/Romance</span><br />
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Property developer Paul McIvor wants to uproot the Palm Garden, and build a luxury hotel on the site. Cathy Brown, president of the local environment committee, wants the garden left as it is. They are on opposite sides of the argument, and their personalities clash. Yet they are passionately attracted to each other. Paul believes the attraction is merely physical. Cathy believes it’s merely physical. But it just won’t go away. The fight over the Palm Garden throws them together, and pulls them apart. It seems impossible for them to create a lasting relationship. Yet maybe, in the end, the plans for the hotel will somehow serve as a perfect “Blueprint for Love.” <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/We-Interrupt-This-Date-ebook/dp/B002CQU14U?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">We Interrupt This Date</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B002CQU14U" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/We-Interrupt-This-Date-Evans/dp/1448614627?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">We Interrupt This Date</a> $12.00 Paperback<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1448614627" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by L. C. Evans<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Contemporary/Fiction/Romance/Horror/Humor</span><br />
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Since her divorce a year ago, Susan Caraway has gone through the motions of life. Now she is finally coming out of her shell. Just when she decides on a makeover and a new career, her family members decide she's crisis central. First there’s her sister DeLorean who has come back from California with a baby, a designer dog, and no prospects for child support or a job. As soon as DeLorean settles in at Susan’s home, Susan’s son Christian returns from college trailing what Susan’s mama refers to as “an androgynous little tart.” Then there’s Mama herself, a southern lady who wrote the book on bossy. A secret from Mama’s past threatens to unravel her own peace. But not before Mama hurts her ankle and has to move into Susan’s home with her babies—two Chihuahuas with attitude. Susan would like to start her new job as a ghost tour operator. She would like to renew her relationship with Jack Maxwell, a man from her past. But Jack isn’t going to stand in line behind her needy family. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003UV98UY&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Talented-Horsewoman-ebook/dp/B003UV98UY?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Talented Horsewoman</a> $2.99 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003UV98UY" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Talented-Horsewoman-L-C-Evans/dp/1933157259?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Talented Horsewoman</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1933157259" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $14.38 paperback<br />
by L.C. Evans<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Mysteries & Thrillers/Fiction/Women Slueths</span><br />
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Leigh McRae leads a quiet life in a small Florida town, surrounded by horse farms and alligators. For the sake of her daughter, she has traded her own happiness for job security and a truce with her ex-husband Kenneth, a poster boy for control freaks. But her peaceful existence is shattered when she discovers the body of her friend and fellow horsewoman, Rita Cameron. The police conclude Rita died in an accidental fall from a hayloft. Leigh is sure the death was a murder and she sets out to convince the police to investigate so her friend can rest in peace.<br />
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Meanwhile she has to deal with escalating demands from Kenneth, demands that may cost her her horses as well as her home. And on top of everything else, she has to help her cousin Sammi, who's dating a burglar. But Leigh doesn't let personal problems stop her from sleuthing, even though she admits she is not the world's greatest detective. While digging for evidence, she discovers a secret in Rita's past. Now Leigh and her daughter are in danger, and only Leigh's desperate actions can save them. <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Witness-Wore-Blood-Bay-ebook/dp/B004KNWHX6?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Witness Wore Blood Bay</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004KNWHX6" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Witness-Wore-Blood-Bay/dp/1456591606?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Witness Wore Blood Bay</a> $12.70 Paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1456591606" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by L. C. Evans<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Mysteries & Thrillers/Fiction/Women Slueths/Humor</span><br />
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In Talented Horsewoman, the first book of the Leigh McRae horse mystery series, main character Leigh McRae discovers a body. She also ends up solving a murder. Along the way she helps her cousin Sammi, who is dating a burglar, and she manages to get out from under the control of her overbearing ex-husband.<br />
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Now Leigh's friend Candy, a fellow horsewoman, finds herself accused of murder. Who else would she turn to for help except Leigh? After all, everyone in small town Del Canto knows Leigh has body-discovering experience. Never mind that Leigh is busy finding out who's poisoning dogs in Sammi's neighborhood and she's trying to renovate her home without going broke. Or that her ex-husband Kenneth and former ranchhand Doug Reilly have become roommates in Leigh's guest house.<br />
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There's a murder to solve. And her friend won't take no for an answer.<br />
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Also by L. C. Evans:<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Night-Camp-ebook/dp/B001YQF0OK?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Night Camp</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B001YQF0OK" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> .99 cents KE <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Night-Camp-L-C-Evans/dp/1442124385?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Night Camp</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1442124385" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $9.00 Paperback<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jobless-Recovery-ebook/dp/B0041KL5C2?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Jobless Recovery</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0041KL5C2" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $1.49 KE <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jobless-Recovery-L-C-Evans/dp/1453792716?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Jobless Recovery: Second Edition</a> $11.00 Paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1453792716" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Little-Miss-Straight-Lace-ebook/dp/B003VIWOLG?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Little Miss Straight Lace</a> $1.89 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003VIWOLG" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Little-Straight-Maria-Elizabeth-Romana/dp/1453868143?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Little Miss Straight Lace</a> $10.95 Paperback<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1453868143" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by Maria Romana<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Romantic Suspense/Fiction/Women's Health/Abuse</span><br />
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What happens when a dedicated researcher learns just a bit too much about her pharmaceutical client’s latest research? As her life begins to spin out of control, a dashing computer security expert arrives from South America and seems the perfect antidote. But is his sudden arrival really just the happy coincidence it appears to be? Find out in this complex novel of suspense, humor, and romance that promises a roller coaster ride of murder, mayhem, sex, and drugs–of the pharmaceutical variety, of course–until the very last page.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004ASNCTE&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Better-Off-Without-Him-ebook/dp/B004ASNCTE?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Better Off Without Him</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004ASNCTE" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $4.99 Kindle Edition<br />
by Dee Ernst<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Contemporary/Romance/Humor</span><br />
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Successful romance writer Mona Berman has to figure out what to do with her life after her husband walks out. Rethinking her new book is the easy part - her heroine finds the best part of her life after getting dumped. But with teen daughters giving her dating advice and her sexy plumber sending her imagination into overdrive, can Mona write her own happy ending? A smart romantic comedy. <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0041OT1U6&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Madhouse-ebook/dp/B0041OT1U6?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Madhouse</a> $3.99 Kindle Edition<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Madhouse-Jill-Martensen/dp/0557731658?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Madhouse</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0557731658" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> $22.50 Paperback <br />
by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Jill%20Martensen"><span style="color: #003399;">Jill Martensen</span></a> <br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Contemporary/Fiction/YA</span><br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0041OT1U6" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<div class="productDescriptionWrapper">To be in love goes against everything that Bette Carter has learned in life. She doesn't want to believe in fairy tales, doesn't want to alter herself to please anyone. Growing up with her mother, "the addicted to love chameleon", had forced her to construct walls and escape routes designed to protect herself. Forming attachments is not an option. <br />
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As she enters into the big city nightlife and an underworld of punk rock, Bette is amazed at how many people she finds that are like her. Wasn't she an individual after all? At The Madhouse she finds comfort in her surroundings and unbelievably...she finds love. <br />
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As her world conspires against her, Bette will find out who she really is, who she can count on, and who she can't live without. <br />
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Who will be her biggest enemy? Will it be love, jealousy, fear or her own ideals? Find out inside Madhouse (a novel). <br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B003BIGFSE&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<div class="emptyClear"></div></div><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Secret-Diary-Wonderland-Three-Quarters-ebook/dp/B003BIGFSE?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003BIGFSE" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
.99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
by Barbara Silkstone<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Thriller/Mysteries/Women Slueths</span><br />
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A murder by beheading sends Alice Harte, reluctant real estate broker for thugs, running into the arms of Nigel Channing, a charming British con man. <br />
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This urban fantasy is set in Miami and London. Fans of Stephanie Plum will cheer for Alice as she watches her back in attempting to keep her head, while being stalked by Nigel's daft ex-wife and inept, but dangerous mobsters. Alice's world is filled with memorable characters strangely reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland. She's guided through her dangerous adventure by her own Cheshire Cat.<br />
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Nigel, a chubby John Cleese with serious dress-code problems, whisks Alice to England. Alice sees him as her White Rabbit rescuer. The plot trips along at a cracking pace with Alice flinging zingers like a drive-by shooter.<br />
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After Alice discovers a gangster's freshly beheaded body in his Miami mansion, she launches a desperate self-defense in a kangaroo court. The main witness against her is Algy Green, a bumbling cockney swindler who super-glues his bat wing ears to his head and commits perjury for theme park tickets. But in the middle of the trial a small piece of evidence opens her eyes.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004L2LL7E&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Where-Dreams-are-Born-ebook/dp/B004L2LL7E?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Where Dreams are Born</a> $4.99 Kindle Edition<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004L2LL7E" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Where-Dreams-Born-Joyce-DeBacco/dp/1603182888?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Where Dreams are Born</a> $14.95 Paperback<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1603182888" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by Joyce DeBacco<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Romantic Suspense</span><br />
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<div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>It was supposed to be a win-win situation—a safe environment in which to raise a son for single mom Vicky, housekeeping and childcare for widowed Jack. Believing they’ve had their shot at happiness, neither is looking to complicate their lives with a romantic entanglement. At first Jack sees Vicky as skinny and plain, guarded with him, but openly warm with his children, an important quality for a man who grew up in the foster care system. However, his growing attraction to the woman who scrubs his toilets and washes his underwear complicates their working relationship. Vicky, too, is reluctant to get involved, having been down that road before with disastrous results. <br />
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When Jack learns his friend fathered Vicky’s son and now wants partial custody, he feels threatened. He’s come to care deeply for both, and doesn’t want to lose the family they’ve become. In desperation he offers a radical solution—marriage. Vicky knows she can do worse than marry Jack, but wonders how successful their marriage would be when its only reason for being was to keep from losing her son. Add to this a troubled child keeping a secret about her dead mother, and a vindictive ex bent on revenge and complications abound.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Serendipity-House-ebook/dp/B003WMA69I?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Serendipity House</a> $5.95 Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003WMA69I" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
by Joyce DeBacco<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Contemporary/Romance/Women</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'serif';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Demoralized by her mother and fiancé, Sylvie heads for the hills on the day she’s to wed. Coming across a <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1298767662_0">quaint country inn</span> with an intriguing name, she impulsively checks in. There she finds the support and genuine affection she’s always longed for; she even accepts the job of managing it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'serif';"></span><span style="font-family: 'serif';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">When Alex arrives, she immediately becomes suspicious. Why would an attractive and distinguished man want to vacation at an inn that’s clearly seen better days? Although she’s determined to avoid him, she finds herself falling for him.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'serif';"></span><span style="font-family: 'serif';"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then she learns that Alex is actually a streetwise PI sent by her jilted fiancé to bring her home, and she’s furious. Complicating matters further, he’s also bought the inn and wants her to help renovate it, not an easy task with someone sabotaging their efforts.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stalker-ebook/dp/B0026RHM24?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Stalker</span></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> .99 cents Kindle Edition<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0026RHM24" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">by Dave Dykema</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Horror/Myteries & Thrillers/Mens Adventure</span><br />
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<div class="productDescriptionWrapper"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Dan Freeman loves horror movies. After seeing the movie "Stalker," he gets very enthusiastic about it, emulating the title character and following innocent people around for fun and thrills. He wants to see how close he can get without getting caught. Ten yards? Ten feet? Close enough to smell perfume? Close enough to touch?<br />
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Dan suspects his girlfriend of cheating on him. One night, while following her using his newfound skills, Dan finds out an awful truth.<br />
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Now the stalker becomes the stalked.</span> <br />
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by Dave Dykema<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Horror/Myteries & Thrillers/Suspense/Mens Adventure</span><br />
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It was the right person, but the wrong number to call.<br />
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Brad Mullen finds a phone number scrawled on a cocktail napkin outside a “meat market” bar. On a whim he dials the number, connecting him in ways he could never have imagined with a woman named Julie.<br />
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Things move fast, culminating in sex at a local park. Trying to slow down the breakneck pace, Brad eases off a bit, but Julie doesn’t like that at all. She burrows into all factions of Brad’s life, invading his work and telling him to stay away from other women and even his best friend.<br />
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Julie’s suffocating Brad. But that’s nothing compared to when the handcuffs, knife, and tire iron come out. She wants to possess him in every way—even if he’s dead.<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=widgetsamazon-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B004OEINOI&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vampire-Drabbles-Fiction-vampire-ebook/dp/B004OEINOI?ie=UTF8&tag=widgetsamazon-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Vampire Drabbles: 40 Bites of Fiction (vampire short stories)</a> .99 cents Kindle Edition<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">Fiction/Horror/Short Stories</span><br />
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by Jason G. Anderson<br />
Edited by Lynn O'Dell<br />
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A man reminisces with his soon-to-be ex-wife.<br />
A writer learns inspiration can have unexpected consequences.<br />
A couple learns the dangers of driving in stormy weather.<br />
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THE VAMPIRE DRABBLES is a collection of forty 100-word short stories (drabbles) exploring vampire myths from all over the world. From the modern Western vampire of film and TV to the shape-shifting Priculics of Romania to the giant bird-like Impundulu of South Africa, these stories will amuse and horrify you.<br />
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It's not safe to go out after dark...<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=widgetsamazon-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B004OEINOI" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
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</div><span style="color: blue;"><strong>*</strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">Please note that I reserve the right to list books with contents that can be enjoyed by viewers of any age.</span></span>Brianna Lee McKenziehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09085569647300404406noreply@blogger.com0