Excerpt 2: HOLD ON TO ME by Linda Winfree
I was going to write this spectacularly helpful post on crafting a marketing plan, but the cold medicine is working against me. Next week. I'll even share my marketing plans.
Instead, here's a second excerpt from my latest release, Hold On to Me, now available from Samhain Publishing.
She keeps a secret buried in the past. He wants the truth—now. But an unknown killer could destroy their future.
Hold On to Me by Linda Winfree
Book Three in the Hearts of the South series.
*
Outside, he glanced up at the thunderclouds gathering in the western sky, backlit by the afternoon sun. He couldn’t shake the gut intuition that said Caitlin’s disappearance had more to do with him than with something case related.
She waited under the porte-cochere, leaning against a column, staring across the parking lot, tapping her cell phone against her lips.
“Cait?”
Not looking at him, she straightened. “Ready?”
Her voice sounded raw, strangled, the aftereffects of tears plain on her face. His chest tightened and he reached for her. “What’s wrong?”
She pulled free of his light hold, her movements jerky. “Can we go, please?”
“Not yet.” A couple entering the lobby cast them a curious look and he lowered his voice. “You were fine earlier and you’ve been crying. Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s none of your business and I wish you’d simply leave me alone.” She turned on him, eyes narrowed to green slits, sparking with bad temper. “Which part of ‘we’re colleagues’ did you not get, Calvert? I don’t go around sharing my personal life with Cook or Schaefer. What makes you different?”
Her anger set him back for all of two seconds before his own rose to match it. “Maybe the fact we had a personal relationship? Remember that, Cait? That’s what sets me apart from Cookie or Jeff, the fact you all but told me you loved me, the fact I’ve had you wrapped around me and screaming my name.”
“So the sex was good.” She strode toward the parking lot. “Get over it. I did.”
“No.” He caught up to her halfway to his truck, grabbed her arm, spun her to him. He leaned down, his face close to hers. “It was more than that and you know it. Something got in the way and hell if I know what it is—”
“God, you’re stubborn.” She fairly growled the words at him, pushing away, continuing toward his dusty Z71. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I met someone else while you were gone? Or maybe I decided I wanted something different? Or even that maybe I just didn’t want you anymore! How many times do I have to say it before it sinks through that thick skull of yours?”
Holy hell, but he was tired of this. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it.” She tugged at the door handle. “Unlock it.”
“You don’t want me.”
Ire flushed her face. “Didn’t I—”
He smothered her protest with his mouth. For a half second, she stiffened in his embrace and lifted her hands, probably to shove him away, before she clutched the front of his shirt and pulled him to her, kissing him with a hunger close to desperation. Desire barreled through him, blending with the frustrated anger, making the kiss rougher than any they’d shared before. He flattened her back against the truck, opening his mouth over hers, stroking his tongue between her lips.
She wound her arms around his waist, arching into him, and he pulled her closer, as near to him as he could get her. She stroked the bunched muscles at his lower back and he groaned into her mouth. Lord, he loved the way she touched him and it had been too damn long since he’d had her hands on him. He’d needed this since she stepped out of that car at Ash’s, since he’d come home from Missisippi. Hell, he’d needed this, needed her, the whole damn time he’d been gone, pretending to be everything he wasn’t.
He splayed his fingers at the curve of her hips. She tasted of mint and passion, the essence of her rocking him to the core. He was growing hard and heavy, an uncomfortable snugness at his groin. Heat trailed through him.
She nipped at his bottom lip, then soothed it with the tip of her tongue, pushing his need higher.
An engine rumbled on the side street and brakes whined. A horn blared, followed by a piercing male wolf whistle. Caitlin went rigid in his arms. Tick pulled away and stared into green eyes almost black with desire. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath and get his body under control.
“Now tell me you don’t want me.”
Copyright © 2007 Linda Winfree
All rights reserved ~ a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
Link to book (and another excerpt): http://www.samhainpublishing.com/romance/hold-on-to-me
Instead, here's a second excerpt from my latest release, Hold On to Me, now available from Samhain Publishing.
She keeps a secret buried in the past. He wants the truth—now. But an unknown killer could destroy their future.
Hold On to Me by Linda Winfree
Book Three in the Hearts of the South series.
*
Outside, he glanced up at the thunderclouds gathering in the western sky, backlit by the afternoon sun. He couldn’t shake the gut intuition that said Caitlin’s disappearance had more to do with him than with something case related.
She waited under the porte-cochere, leaning against a column, staring across the parking lot, tapping her cell phone against her lips.
“Cait?”
Not looking at him, she straightened. “Ready?”
Her voice sounded raw, strangled, the aftereffects of tears plain on her face. His chest tightened and he reached for her. “What’s wrong?”
She pulled free of his light hold, her movements jerky. “Can we go, please?”
“Not yet.” A couple entering the lobby cast them a curious look and he lowered his voice. “You were fine earlier and you’ve been crying. Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s none of your business and I wish you’d simply leave me alone.” She turned on him, eyes narrowed to green slits, sparking with bad temper. “Which part of ‘we’re colleagues’ did you not get, Calvert? I don’t go around sharing my personal life with Cook or Schaefer. What makes you different?”
Her anger set him back for all of two seconds before his own rose to match it. “Maybe the fact we had a personal relationship? Remember that, Cait? That’s what sets me apart from Cookie or Jeff, the fact you all but told me you loved me, the fact I’ve had you wrapped around me and screaming my name.”
“So the sex was good.” She strode toward the parking lot. “Get over it. I did.”
“No.” He caught up to her halfway to his truck, grabbed her arm, spun her to him. He leaned down, his face close to hers. “It was more than that and you know it. Something got in the way and hell if I know what it is—”
“God, you’re stubborn.” She fairly growled the words at him, pushing away, continuing toward his dusty Z71. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I met someone else while you were gone? Or maybe I decided I wanted something different? Or even that maybe I just didn’t want you anymore! How many times do I have to say it before it sinks through that thick skull of yours?”
Holy hell, but he was tired of this. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it.” She tugged at the door handle. “Unlock it.”
“You don’t want me.”
Ire flushed her face. “Didn’t I—”
He smothered her protest with his mouth. For a half second, she stiffened in his embrace and lifted her hands, probably to shove him away, before she clutched the front of his shirt and pulled him to her, kissing him with a hunger close to desperation. Desire barreled through him, blending with the frustrated anger, making the kiss rougher than any they’d shared before. He flattened her back against the truck, opening his mouth over hers, stroking his tongue between her lips.
She wound her arms around his waist, arching into him, and he pulled her closer, as near to him as he could get her. She stroked the bunched muscles at his lower back and he groaned into her mouth. Lord, he loved the way she touched him and it had been too damn long since he’d had her hands on him. He’d needed this since she stepped out of that car at Ash’s, since he’d come home from Missisippi. Hell, he’d needed this, needed her, the whole damn time he’d been gone, pretending to be everything he wasn’t.
He splayed his fingers at the curve of her hips. She tasted of mint and passion, the essence of her rocking him to the core. He was growing hard and heavy, an uncomfortable snugness at his groin. Heat trailed through him.
She nipped at his bottom lip, then soothed it with the tip of her tongue, pushing his need higher.
An engine rumbled on the side street and brakes whined. A horn blared, followed by a piercing male wolf whistle. Caitlin went rigid in his arms. Tick pulled away and stared into green eyes almost black with desire. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath and get his body under control.
“Now tell me you don’t want me.”
Copyright © 2007 Linda Winfree
All rights reserved ~ a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
Link to book (and another excerpt): http://www.samhainpublishing.com/romance/hold-on-to-me
Labels: Excerpts, Linda's Posts
posted by Linda Winfree at 9:49 AM
0 comments
:~: Thursday, December 20, 2007 :~:
Now Available: HOLD ON TO ME by Linda Winfree
{Pssst, E! This is an added scene in the new version.)
She keeps a secret buried in the past. He wants the truth—now. But an unknown killer could destroy their future.
Hold On to Me by Linda Winfree
Book Three in the Hearts of the South series.
For FBI profiler Caitlin Falconetti, immersing herself in her job is the only way to quell the memories of a vicious, near-fatal attack and what it cost her, including the only man she ever loved. Better to let him think she simply rejected him, rather than reveal a painful secret that she's certain would have destroyed his feelings for her.
Investigator Lamar “Tick” Calvert is determined to clean out the corruption-riddled sheriff’s department in his hometown. While he understands Caitlin's drive to excel at her job, that doesn’t mean he's happy about the prospect of working with his former lover, the one woman he tried and failed to hold onto.
A rash of unsolved murders, including a politician's daughter, brings them together to find the murderer before another woman dies. Daily contact re-ignites the lingering attraction between them, but Caitlin won't risk opening herself and revealing her secret. She plans to complete the killer's profile, make an arrest and get out of town for good.
Tick plans to solve this case, too, but now that Caitlin's back in his life, he also plans to finally dig up the truth about why she left him.
But there's an added complication—the killer isn't done, and Caitlin could be the next target.
*
The squad room lay quiet and deserted. A subdued rumble of activity drifted up the stairs from the dispatch area, mixing with the scent of stale coffee lingering in the air.
The few bites of chile relleno Tick had forced himself to eat formed a lump in his stomach. He tucked his cigarettes in his pocket, the two he’d smoked back-to-back on the way over here not really settling him down.
He paused in the doorway to the conference room. Jeff and Cookie were nowhere in sight. Caitlin sat, reading the red leather-bound journal they’d taken from Amy’s room, a cup from the local java joint at her elbow. He watched her, the thick black silk of her hair pulled into a loose knot, the Fibbie suit traded for jeans and a simple white T-shirt under a neat seersucker jacket. One loafer-clad foot tapped the floor, a frown of concentration wrinkling her brow.
Damn, she was beautiful.
Beautiful and scarred. Not visibly damaged, but something had stolen her away from him.
Damned if he wasn’t going to find out what. If he was trapped into this working arrangement, so was she. This time, he’d make it a hell of a lot harder for her to dodge the issue.
“Find anything interesting?”
She startled like a scalded cat. The diary slid to the floor and one flailing hand collided with her coffee, sending the dark liquid across the table.
“Oh, hell!” She jumped to her feet and righted the cup. He grabbed a handful of napkins from the shelf by the door and began mopping up the mess. She glared, her eyes big and dark with fury in her pale face. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, Calvert.”
“Who’s sneaking?” He dropped the sopping mass of napkins in the trash. “I just walked into my own department and asked a simple question.”
She leaned down to retrieve the book, but he reached it first. They straightened and he proffered it, merely the length of the volume between them. She took it from him with ill grace. “A little advance warning would be nice.”
“You’re awful jumpy.” He studied her as she sank into the chair again. The color didn’t return to her face and tiny tremors shook her slender fingers. A warning flag waved in his mind.
“I was reading.”
He pulled out the chair cater-cornered and closest to hers, an old interrogator’s trick. She flicked a glance at him and shifted to the farthest edge of her seat.
“So how’ve you been?”
“Fine. Thank you.”
“Busy?” He leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. He stretched his legs, crowding hers a little, forcing himself into a semblance of casual relaxation. “Probably had to drop a lot of things to come down here.”
“Not really.” She scratched a note on a legal pad, her knuckles white. “I’ve been out of the field.”
That surprised him. She lived for the damn job. At one time, he’d been fully prepared to take a backseat to that drive of hers, as long as they could be together. “Why?”
Her Montblanc pen faltered, ink smearing on the paper. She dropped it and looked up, her eyes cool and shuttered. “Did I miss something, Calvert? When did we agree to play twenty questions?”
He smiled, the “aw-shucks-good-ol’-boy” one he used whenever he had to worm his way under the defenses of a local suspect. “You said it, Falconetti, we have to work together. I’m just playing nice, making conversation.”
“Try selling that line of bull to someone who’ll buy it.” Her hands were in her lap now, but he’d bet his next pack of smokes her fingers were wound into fists. The whole line of her body screamed with tension and the need for escape. How many times had he seen that posture on a perp? “You’re digging.”
“That implies you’re hiding something.”
She pushed her chair back, obviously preparing to flee. “Hiding something? You’re deluded—”
“What is it, Cait?” He grasped her wrist, holding her in the chair with a light touch. “What the hell happened while I was in Mississippi?”
“Let go.”
“Tell me.”
“Don’t touch me.” They stared at one another, the power struggle pulsing to life, growing and twisting between them. “I mean it, Tick, let go or—”
“Or what? You’ll slap a sexual harassment suit on me? Ruin my career?” He leaned forward, ready to call her bluff. “Go for it, precious.”
The endearment he’d only ever used with her slipped out and her eyes widened, darkened. She moistened her lips and tugged against his hold. “You’re hurting me.”
Not physically. He wasn’t holding her tightly enough to do that, but he released her. She had a trapped, hunted air about her now and grim satisfaction curled through him. Oh, yeah, she was hiding something. If he could just find the weak point, break through that damn control of hers…
“I’d never hurt you and you know it.”
“Stop.” Her voice trembled and his chest tightened.
“Not until you—”
“Until nothing. We’re colleagues, Tick,” she said, cold dismissal not quite covering the lingering nervousness in her tone. “That’s all.”
“We used to be friends.”
And lovers. The words hung in the air, unsaid.
“Well, this looks cozy.”
Damn. Tick smothered a wave of frustrated anger. Cookie had the worst timing known to man. Tick straightened, making sure his expression was blank before he looked around at the other man. Cookie’s face was a study in smooth guilelessness that didn’t fool Tick for an instant.
Copyright © 2007 Linda Winfree
All rights reserved ~ a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication.
Link to book (and another, longer excerpt): http://www.samhainpublishing.com/romance/hold-on-to-me
Labels: Excerpts, Linda's Posts
posted by Linda Winfree at 3:21 PM
1 comments
:~: Thursday, November 29, 2007 :~:
Excerpt: Perfectly Good Nanny by Paty Jager
Brock Hughes is a man juggling a mortgaged ranch, a preteen daughter, and a toddler. He’s lost two wives, one to a tragic accident and the other to the bright lights of the city. That’s the trouble with women. Sooner or later, by design or by fate, they leave a man high and dry. He doesn't want another one for his family--especially in the form of a beautiful nanny he didn't hire.Carina Valencia arrives on Brock’s doorstep determined to pull her life back together. As far as she's concerned, it doesn't matter who hired her. These children are clearly in need of a woman’s touch and she’ll not let another child down.
******
“You have no right to come here and criticize how I raise my children.” Brock took three long strides toward Carina. “Do they look abused or neglected to you?” Towering over her, he glared at her upturned face. How dare she question him?
She didn’t back away or down.
“Your daughter ordering a nanny screams of neglect to me,” Carina retorted with steel in her voice.
Her reaction puzzled him.
“She had help.” He did feel remorse his daughter knew what she needed and he didn’t.
“But you knew nothing about it.” Carina threw her hands in the air, turned away then swung back around. “If you supervised your children as you say you do, she wouldn’t have been able to arrange for a nanny and have one arrive without your knowledge.”
She was right, but he’d never admit it. He was a bad excuse for a father, but he loved the land and his children and was torn between the two. They both needed him.
Brock rubbed a hand over his face and backed away from the woman who made him see himself in an unfavorable light. “I know,” he mumbled.
“You know what?” she stepped close. He could smell her perfume and the scent of baby powder.
"I know I’m not around enough, but they also need fed and clothed and this god-forsaken land is what puts food on the table and clothes on their backs.”
“But they need you, too.” Her face softened. “Physical contact is just as important as food and shelter.” She reached out, rubbing his arm. “You’re a wonderful father when you’re with the children. And I’ve no doubt Maddie had a terrific time with you today.”
The energy her touch set off frightened him. God help him. Between the zing of her touch and the passion in her words, his body overruled his good sense.
Grasping her shoulders, he pulled her against his chest, breathing in her sensual scent. It felt good to hold a woman again. Especially, one who’d just given him such high praise, even if it was after raking him up one side and down the other.
When she didn’t pull from his embrace, he slid his hand down her back, forgetting all the reasons he’d built to stay away from a woman.
******
Paty Jager lives with her husband of twenty-eight years and a menagerie of farm animals. Her four children are grown and leading their own lives and providing grandchildren to spoil.She has been a freelance reporter for local newspapers and a 4-H program assistant over the years as she honed her writing. Nearly ten years ago she joined RWA (Romance Writers of America). After eight years of attending many conferences, workshops, and being a finalist in eight contests, she broke into the publishing industry with a new, small e-book and POD publisher, The Wild Rose Press.Soon to be the ex-president of the Mid-Willamette Valley RWA chapter in Salem, Oregon, she is also a member of the Hearts Through History RWA online chapter, and a member of the Redmond Writers group. She credits the RWA organization for helping her work on her craft to become a published author and giving her the contacts necessary to build her career. Two western romance historical books were published in 2006. Marshal in Petticoats and Gambling on an Angel. Her third romance novel, Perfectly Good Nanny, a contemporary western romance, is available in both print and e-book. The second book of the Petticoat series, Outlaw in Petticoats, will be available in print May 2008.
posted by Elisabeth Naughton at 9:39 AM
4 comments
:~: Thursday, November 15, 2007 :~:
Excerpt: Night Song by Sharon Cullen
Night Song He’s a centuries old vampire who doesn’t do domestication. She’s a single mother struggling to survive. Evil brings them together, but will their love be enough to keep them alive?
******
Aiden hadn’t lied. He had been walking in the woods. What he didn’t tell her was that he timed his walk to coincide with her nightly ritual of sitting on the deck with her glass of wine. She’d been late tonight and he’d almost given up, but his patience had been rewarded when the sliding door opened and she stepped through.
He’d been more than stunned to see the shimmer of tears on her cheeks and could no more have stayed away than deny his insatiable hunger for blood. He had to know what was wrong, what made her sad.
But she was reluctant to talk and her mortification was apparent, so he let it go for the time being. That thought alone should have been enough to send him running for the hills. She was human and she was a mother on top of it. A bad combination in his book. But this woman was different and that both drew him to her and made him step back.
It was insane to get to know her.
Yet he couldn’t stay away even if he wanted—and at the moment he didn’t want.
She left the deck to get his wine. He followed and stood just outside the sliding glass door, surveying her kitchen. It was everything his home was not. Lydia’s drawings covered the front of the refrigerator held there with big, colorful magnets. An overlarge calendar was taped up, each day marked with different colored pens. Papers had been pushed off to the side of the kitchen table. Cooling loaves of bread littered the small space. Aiden took a deep breath and held it. Lemon bread, if he wasn’t mistaken.
He rarely ate food, and only then to appease the human he was with, but the scents coming from Amy’s kitchen made his stomach grumble. His gaze went to her as she bustled around the cluttered kitchen. Just like the other night, he wanted to step inside and just be with her. But, as a vampire, he wasn’t allowed inside unless invited.
Amy shot him a warm look over her shoulder as she pulled more loaves from the oven. “Come in,” she said with a smile. “Sorry about the mess.”
He stepped inside, savoring the smell of warm lemon bread, entranced at the sight of her rear end bent over the open oven door. His breath caught in his lungs and he stepped even closer. She closed the door and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of wine.
“It’s so hard to keep the kitchen clean,” she said. “Seems every time I straighten it up, it’s a mess again.”
She chuckled and turned around, then gasped when she knocked into him. Wine splashed out of the glass and splattered her hand.
“Oh.” Her face turned red. “Sorry.”
He took the glass in one hand and her fingers in his other. Lifting her hand to his lips, he kept his gaze trained on her wide, amber eyes. Slowly he sucked the sweet liquid from her fingers and palm, running his tongue along her palm. He closed his eyes, biting back a groan at the salty-sweet taste of her skin. He skimmed his fangs across her palm and she inhaled. His gaze flew to hers where a desire mixed with trepidation and a longing that nearly matched his shone back.
Quickly, before he lost control, he let go of her hand. She held it to her body, cradling it close to her breast. Aiden licked his lips, wanting more. Wanting it all. He took a step back and sipped his wine, studying the rise and fall of her breasts, hearing the small little pants that escaped from between her lips. He could smell the heat rising from her body, the woman scent that had him rock hard.
Not tonight. If he were smart, not ever. But sometimes his intelligence took a back seat to other, baser instincts, and he had no doubt this would be one of those times.
She wanted him. He could see it in her eyes and in the way she leaned toward him. But she also didn’t want him. That was in her eyes as well, evidenced by the confusion. He placed his glass on the kitchen table and took a step in her direction. She held her ground but her eyes grew wider and the pulse in her carotid picked up speed. Keeping his mouth shut, he licked his incisors, nearly tasting her warm, sweet blood. Would it taste like she smelled? Vanilla and flowers? God, he wanted to know.
He reached her in another step and stood so close her warm breath heated him through his shirt. With slow movements, he lifted his hand and caressed her neck. There. Right there he could kiss her, feel her pulse, know that her blood flowed through her. His mouth watered. She licked her lips and he groaned, bending his head and taking her mouth with his, licking the line where her upper lip clamped over her lower, asking for entry.
She opened and he dove in, tasting her, testing her. He was a master at kissing while hiding his elongated and very sharp fangs. His hands cupped the sides of her face. Tentatively, slowly, she raised her hands and placed them on his waist. Her fingers stroked little circles, making his skin tingle where she touched him.
“Mama?”
With a gasp, Amy pushed away, staring at him with wide eyes, her lips rosy and soft. She swiped a hand across her mouth and tore her gaze from his. With a muttered curse, Aiden ran a shaky hand through his hair.
“Lydia, what are you doing up?” Amy asked her daughter.
“Why are you kissing the boogey-man?”
**********
BIO: After reading Black Beauty when she was ten, Sharon had two dreams—to own a horse and to write books. She still doesn’t have the horse, but she does write. Nowadays she divides her time between the every day duties of a mom with three busy kids, a husband, a Labrador Retriever who occasionally makes an appearance in her stories, and writing. Contact Sharon at sharon@sharoncullen.net
Visit Sharon’s website at http://www.sharoncullen.net/
posted by Joan Swan at 3:04 PM
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:~: Wednesday, November 07, 2007 :~:
Excerpt: Judgment Fire
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The massive rock barrier of the southern Sierra and its jagged snow-covered pinnacles never failed to inspire Tempe. Normally, the pine, aspen and cedar forest bordering the winding highway calmed and reassured her--until this afternoon.A face popped into her mind. Someone she hadn't seen or thought of for quite awhile, which added to the apprehension she couldn't shake. Deputy Tempe Crabtree attributed her uneasiness to the fact that her assigned beat, the tiny community of Bear Creek and the surrounding area, would soon be swollen with Memorial Day weekend tourists. Fishermen, swimmers, and water skiers would swarm the banks of Lake Dennison, and visitors in all sorts of vehicles would soon clog the two-lane road to the high country and its many camping sites. Her work load would increase a hundred-fold.
She made a quick pass through Bear Creek and continued upward into the mountains. Her vehicle, a white Blazer with SHERIFF printed in large black letters above the gold county seal on both doors, made her highly visible.
The route followed the river's course and she caught glimpses of it from time to time. Most of the homes and ranches were hidden from view by the thick tangle of wild berry bushes, manzanita, and shadowed woodlands.
Maneuvering the Blazer around a sharp curve, she drew in a quick breath and braked. Fire engulfed the front end of a green mini-van, outlining a person in the front seat. The vehicle was stopped at the side of the road, flames licking at the bordering brush.
Tempe radioed her position and requested assistance before leaping from her vehicle and dashing to the driver's side of the van. She yanked on the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. The cab was filled with smoke. "Get out!"
The driver, a Native American woman in her fifties, faced straight ahead, long fingers gripping the steering wheel. It was Doretha Nightwalker, her silver hair brushed tightly back into a bun. Though Doretha's eyes were open, she didn't seem aware of what was happening.
The windshield and dashboard were melting. Doretha would die if Tempe didn't get her out immediately.
Darting around the van, Tempe leaped the burning brush and reached for the passenger door. After a short struggle, the door opened. "Doretha! You've got to get out now."
The woman didn't react. Tempe scrambled into the front seat. Smoke burned her eyes and the intense heat made breathing difficult.
Tempe yanked the woman’s arm, but Doretha continued to clutch the steering wheel. Flames sneaked through the cracks of the firewall. One by one, Tempe pried Doretha's fingers loose. Grabbing her around the waist, she yanked the slender woman across the seat and pulled her out of the burning vehicle.
One of the van's tires exploded as Tempe dragged Doretha to her Blazer. Opening the passenger door, she hoisted the woman onto the floor of the Blazer. Doretha stared vacantly.
"Doretha, are you hurt?" Tempe spoke loudly, trying to get through to the woman. Another van tire burst. A siren whined in the distance.
Grasping her wrist, Tempe felt Doretha's pulse. Rapid and strong. No cuts or bruises were on her face. Examining her quickly, Tempe found no obvious broken bones. Of course internal injuries were possible.
The siren grew louder. "We'll have help soon, Doretha."
Doretha still didn't respond.
Tempe grabbed her microphone and contacted the dispatcher. "We've got a single vehicle, fully involved. One victim. We need an ambulance."
Long, slender fingers grabbed Tempe's arm. "No, no ambulance. I'm not hurt." Doretha's voice was deep and raspy.
"You should be checked out by a doctor," Tempe said.
"There's no need."
Tempe shrugged, and picked up the mike. "Cancel the ambulance."
Facing Doretha, Tempe asked, "What happened? Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. My mind was off somewhere. To tell you the truth, I was thinking about you. All of sudden the car was on fire...I pulled off the road. I don't remember anything after that."
Amazing. "That's strange because you're face popped into my mind just before I turned the corner and discovered your van on fire."
Doretha nodded. "Yes, I thought it was something like that."
Before Tempe could ask what she meant, the fire engine rounded the bend and came to a halt. Captain Roundtree and two volunteers in black-and-yellow turnout gear and helmets leaped out, carrying fire extinguishers and hoses. "I don't think they'll be able to save much," Tempe said.
"No, I realize that. A small sacrifice."
"You do have insurance, don’t you?"
"Oh, yes. My van will be replaced. But I'm relieved to know that this didn't happen because I was out of harmony. That's when most misfortunes occur."
Doretha, a shaman, viewed the world in a unique manner. Tempe first met her while investigating the disappearance and murder of a small child. Doretha was one of several Native Americans who had recently helped Tempe learn more about her own Yanduchi heritage.
Her curiosity piqued, Tempe asked, "Why do you suppose I had you on my mind just before I came upon you? Something psychic?"
Doretha chuckled. "That's one way of putting it I suppose. However, I think there's a simpler explanation. Our paths were intended to cross."
Why? Did Doretha have a specific reason why they were supposed to see each other? Did the shaman have a problem she needed Tempe's help with? Or was it Tempe who needed Doretha?
*****
Visit her at http://fictionforyou.com
Labels: Excerpts
posted by Joan Swan at 4:58 PM
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