Tuesday, March 5, 2024

Chapter One: The Dreaming Team by Chris Wallace

Title: The Dreaming Team
Author: Chris Wallace
Publication Date: October 30, 2023
Pages: 368
Genre: Historical Fiction
 

In the 1850s, Australia was a thriving colony of the British Empire, with its own sense of importance and sophistication.  But the people who had occupied this vast land for upwards of 40,000 years didn’t fit well with colonial expectations of the future.  In every way imaginable, white Australia tried to keep its “darkies” in line. It is against this backdrop in the 1860s that the amazing story of an all Aboriginal cricket team, the first Aussie team to do so, played at Lords, the home of cricket in England.  Conventional wisdom predicted that Indigenous Australians would die off by the next generation. The Dreaming Team brings those Indigenous players to life and follows them on an adventure that would appear to be unbelievable if it weren’t true.  They not only changed the minds and perceptions about Aboriginal Australians, they arguably changed the course of Australian history.  Praise for The Dreaming Team: “A beautiful story, beautifully written, about a piece of Australian history that, if you don’t know about, you probably should. Heartwarming, heartbreaking and brimming with relevance for today’s Australia. A poignant example of how far we’ve come and how far we haven’t.” “The Dreaming Team tells the true story of the all Aboriginal cricket team from Victoria who did a tour of Great Britain back in the 1860s and all the drama, setbacks, and cultural divide between the Aboriginals and white Australians involved. Considering the state of affairs for Aboriginal people in those days, the team’s accomplishments are no small feat!” “What an interesting story. It is truly an Australian story about indigenous Australians. The story grabbed me from the first chapter, and drew me further in to where I could not put it down. I don’t want to give anything away, so I will say that the twists and turns makes you want to know what happens next at the end of each chapter. To say it is a sports story is not fair, it is a people story, told from the heart, about the hearts of people who love the land, and their story. I recommend it highly, and look forward to more from the author, Chris Wallace!”

You can purchase your copy at Amazon.  

First Chapter:

“But, Mum, he’s all alone.  He doesn’t have anyone.”

“That’s not our worry, Alice.  Now, help me hang this washing.”

Alice takes one side of the washing basket while her mother takes the other.  

As they peg the laundry onto the clothes line, Alice keeps up her protest.  “And besides, he’s my age.  We grew up together.  He’s like a brother to me.”

“Alice, stop it!  I don’t have time for this nonsense.  We’ve given him a job and food and a place to sleep while he was growing up.  That’s more than a lot of people would do.”

Alice has never been one to give up easily on anything.  When she was a little girl, her mother insisted that Allce’s hair grow long enough so she could braid it.  Alice didn’t like wearing braids.  Her mother braided it anyway.  Alice protested.  Her mother ignored the protests.  Alice got hold of some scissors and cut all her hair off.  

“Well, I don’t care what you say.  I like him and he’s my friend.  He’s the only friend I have.  He’s my best friend!  I guess I’ll have to talk to Dad about it.”

“Don’t you dare.  And besides, I’ve already talked to him.  Listen to me, Alice.  It was one thing when you two were little.  But you’re getting to be a woman now.  And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.  I just don’t think it’s a good idea to spend so much time with Black Johnny.  Things happen.  And I’m not going to let things happen to you.  It’s already decided.  He’s going and that’s the end of it.”

*  *  *  *  *

As he wanders away and into the dense Australian bush, Unaarrimin looks back at Mullagh Station.  The brick house and its veranda, along with the sheds and pens, had been the only things he could identify with for these many years.  They had been his everyday surroundings, as were the dogs and horses he looked after and the sheep he sheared.  The land on which Mullagh Station sits had also been his ancestral home going back thousands of years.  This is his country.  It provided his Jardwadjali people with everything they needed.  It took care of them and they took care of it.  This dot on the earth had been his everything, his every place, his only place.  Then the white settlers came and made the land do things that were unnatural to it after brutally displacing the people who had lived there for thousands of years.  They introduced new animals and ripped down the trees and plants that had stood there since the beginning of time.  They plowed up the earth and sowed new plants that this land had never known.  They built new structures that belonged on another continent.  

They said they owned it now.  Unaarrimin knew that nobody can own the land.  It is the earth.  People cannot own the earth.  All anyone could do is to be part of it – be at one with it, as the Jardwadjali have been since the Dreaming.  But now, he is no longer even a part of this new version.  Now, his attachment to the land is in his soul, not in a geographic location.

He walks deeper into the bush.  Little by little he finds it more and more familiar, not by way of recognition, but as a concept, as an organic existence.  With each step, he goes farther away from the station and closer to his roots.  He stops by a stream.  Without thinking about it, he takes off his “white man” clothes and fashions a loincloth from one of his old work shirts.  Then he kneels down for a drink of the fresh water.  As he gazes down at his reflection, his mind wanders back to a day when he was at his father’s side, drinking from this same stream.

“Try it again,” his father says, as he hands the boomerang to Unaarrimin.  “Hold it like this..  Throw from your shoulder.”  The boy takes the boomerang.  It is nearly the size of his arm.  “Now make yourself calm,” his father continues.  The boy tries to relax but feels the pressure of wanting to please his father.  His father senses this and says in a softer, more encouraging voice, “Be calm, son.  You must be still inside.  Stillness is the key.  You can do it.”  The boy lets out a big breath and his shoulders relax.  He steps away from his father and hurls the weapon into the air.  It whirls around in a wide arc with a velocity that belies the boy’s size, coming to rest on the ground in front of his father.  Unaarrimin beams up at him.  

“Now do it again,” says his father, suppressing a slight smile.

After some time has passed, being driven off Mullagh Station doesn’t feel as much of a hardship for Unaarrimin.  He is at home in the bush.  In his genetic memory, he knows that everything he needs is here.  He grazes on berries and bush tomatoes as he strolls along.  As the afternoon sun bears down, he decides to have a rest.  No reason to hurry.  No place to hurry to.  He finds a spot in the shade of a gum tree and stretches out with his hands behind his head.  Before long, he is in a deep, peaceful sleep.  

It is late afternoon when he is awakened by birds in a pre-dusk conversation, announcing their presence to one another from all around the canopy of trees: brilliant crimson rosellas, double banded plovers, fairywrens.  Their presence sparks his recollection.  These are birds he has known from his childhood, albeit by different names.  Each bird adds a different voice to this familiar symphony.  He sits up to listen.  He realizes that he’s smiling.  Then he hears another bird emit three sharp, penetrating screeches which immediately grab his attention.  This is a call he knows very well.  Looking up through the trees, he spots the Black Cockatoo, his totem.  He hears his father’s voice, “This is your totem, your brother.  Our people have known this bird since our beginning.  It will protect you.  You must respect and protect it too.  We are one with the Black Cockatoo.  Never forget this.”  Unaarrimin looks up at the bird and nods to his father.  “I will remember, father.”  “Always.”  “Yes, father, always.”

Unaarrimin can’t recall the last time he wandered in the bush without a destination or purpose.  He knows he will eventually have to find employment somewhere.  The bush can no longer really be his home.  White men have pieces of paper that say they own it.  But at least for the moment, he is free.  He continues wandering aimlessly, looking at the sky, listening to the wind, feeling the cool evening air begin to embrace him.  He’ll need to find a place to camp soon.  When it gets dark here in the bush, it gets dark.  Moonlight and the stars are the only light source.  On moonless nights, it’s only the stars.  On cloudy nights, there is nothing.  Just at dusk, he comes upon a billabong.  He gathers some brush and broken limbs and builds a satisfactory lean-to against a huge blue gum.  He rolls out his swag and picks a place to build a fire.  In a few minutes, it is glowing and throwing sparks into the night air.  Soon some of the night creatures begin serenading from the darkness.  He hears the haunting sigh of the brush tail possum.  Then, the screeching rumble of the Soot Owl.  The fire casts flickering shadows onto the surrounding vegetation.  Unaarrimin stares into the fire and listens to this night music.  His mind wanders.

The corroboree is in full swing.  They come from three different groups: the Jardwadjali, the Gunditjamara and the Wotjabaluk people.  It is already well into the night.  Fires blaze.  Sparks fly up into the sky.  The sound of didgeridoos and clap sticks fill the night air, along with the sound of bare feet beating against the earth.  The adults are dancing and singing and telling stories of the Dreaming.  The festival is also a chance to catch up with old friends.  The girls steal surreptitious glances at the boys who are trying to impress one another with their physical skills.  Later in their lives, these same boys will be known by “white” names: King Cole, Bullocky, Sugar, Jellicoe, Dicky Dick, Redcap, Johnny Cuzens, Neddy, Tarpot, Sundown and Peter.  Even Unaarrimin will be called by another name. But for now they are busy challenging one another.  A ball made of possum skin is suspended from a limb.  In turn, each of them jumps as high as he can in an attempt to dislodge it.  Tiny Johnny Cuzens leaps and leaps while the others have a hearty laugh.  Finally he gives up and laughs with them. “One day,” he says. “‘One day”’  Bullocky’s thick body barely leaves the ground when he tries to jump.  Jellicoe comes closest, but still falls short.  Finally, it’s Unaarrimin’s turn.  Before he jumps, he quiets himself.  Stillness is the key.  Then he springs into the air and grabs the possum ball with both hands before landing lightly on the balls of his feet. The others whoop and howl in celebration.  He always outdoes the others in these games.  They are used to it and they would be disappointed if he didn’t.  Dicky Dick tells Unaarrimin to put it back up there.  He wants to have a go.  Unaarrimin tosses the possum ball up into the tree.  Dicky Dick stands beneath it.  He sizes it up from one angle.  Then he looks up at it from another.  With great drama, he looks over his thumb to calculate the height.  He is finally ready.  Then he runs to the tree’s trunk and scampers up with the agility of a koala.  He shinnies out onto the limb and retrieves the ball, before dropping to the ground.  The others, including the girls, applaud and laugh as he bows in all directions.  The fruit bats banging around in the trees above him bring Unaarrimin out of his reverie.  He banks the fire and lies on his back looking up through the trees until he falls asleep.

He wakes up as the new day dawns and has a full throated yawn and a leisurely stretch.  He gathers some wood and refreshes the fire.  After fetching some water in his billycan, he carefully sets it at the edge of the flames and tosses in a handful of tea.  He sees a tall tree trunk a short distance away.  He climbs up to the top and looks down inside the hollow.  Just as he thought, there is a duck nest in the bottom with four large, white eggs resting in it.  He takes two from the nest and leaves the others.  Breakfast.  He returns to the billabong and finds wattle ferns and grinds the seeds into flour between two rocks.  Then he adds water and salt, shapes it into a loaf and puts it on the coals to become damper, bush bread.  A feast at his fingertips.  

Two more days pass in this same, relaxed, unhurried way.  By now his day has a familiar routine.  After he has had his morning tea, he goes out looking for food.  The variety is limitless: one time he’ll trap a possum, another time he’ll catch a fish.  Each day, he digs up some tubers, picks some leafy plants or collects nuts.  One of the days, he feels especially daring.  He climbs a tree and with the greatest delicacy, using a long stick, steals some honey without being attacked.  He tries to imagine what it would be like to live by this billabong forever.  

But on the morning of his fourth day, as he eats his morning meal, his mind feels unsettled.  He is not focused on anything in general or anything in particular.  But the euphoria of being free and on the land, which had so powerfully embraced him these past days, begins to fade.  Something is bothering him.  He knows he has to still himself.  Whatever it is will reveal itself once he is still.  It is the way he solves all problems.  He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath.  As he feels himself calming, he begins unconsciously humming a song.  Finally, he is where he is, focused, present.  He suddenly becomes aware of the song he is humming.  Alice had sung this song when they were children.  Like a tidal wave, an enormous sorrow washes over him.  He begins weeping shamelessly, the tears of a heartbroken child.   It was only four days ago.  It seems like an eternity. 

Mr. Buckingham has asked Black Johnny to come into the shearing shed.  They stand together, both uncomfortable for different reasons.  Unaarrimin wonders if he’s done something wrong.  He has always tried to be a good worker.  Never complained about anything.  Was happy just to be there on the station  What could he have done?  In the very back of his mind, he wonders if it has anything to do with Alice but dismisses the thought as soon as it comes.  Mr. Buckingham is uncomfortable because he doesn’t like confrontation.  And especially this one.  He is perfectly happy with Black Johnny, finds him easy going, cooperative and good at his job.  It’s only because of his wife that he is in this position.  After a few more awkward minutes, Buckingham clears his throat and begins.  “You know . . . Um . . . You see . . . If it was up to me . . . Well . . . Er . . . The Missus has a bit of ah . . . Oh, damn it, I’m going to have to let you go.  That’s the size of it.  You’ll have to leave the property.  I’ve arranged some provisions for you, tea and sugar, salt, a blanket, a billy, matches, a good knife.  But you’ll have to go.”  Unaarrimin can only look at this man dumbfounded; this man who has been his guardian since he was orphaned as a little boy.  “What have I done?” Unaarrimin asks.  “Well, that’s just it, you see.  It isn’t that you’ve done anything.  It’s more like . . . um . . . look, Johnny, let’s just leave it that the Missus would rather you weren’t here anymore.  Like I said, if it was up to me, we wouldn’t be having this talk.  But you’ve got to go.  Here, take this letter with you.  It’ll help you get a job somewhere else.  But she wants you off the property tomorrow.  Early.”

Alice and Unaarrimin had been inseparable when they were children.  She claimed him.  She taught him to read.  As she learned them, she taught him manners.  They hiked all over Mullagh Station together.  He taught her how to live in the bush, showing her what plants were edible; how to make bread, how to build a proper fire.  They got into all manner of mischief together, stealing honey from Mrs. Buckingham’s cupboard and tobacco from Mr. Buckingham’s pouch.  One time Unaarrimin twisted his ankle jumping from the roof of the shed because Alice dared him.  When they saw that he was alright, they rolled on the ground together in fits of laughter.  He remembers how infectious Alice’s laugh is.  It’s like a melody, like music to him.  He would always do anything to make her laugh.  And she always did.  One day he was teaching her how to throw a boomerang.  “Hold it like this,’ he says.  “Throw from the shoulder”.  Alice cranks her arm for a mighty toss and cracks Unaarrimin in the nose.  She starts laughing her magical laugh.  Even when it starts bleeding, she’s still laughing.  And by now, he is laughing  too.  Alice takes a handkerchief from her pocket and begins dabbing the blood.  Then she gives it to him so he can apply enough pressure to stop the bleeding.  All the while they are laughing uncontrollably.

But there is no laughter now.  Now, he is filled with sadness as he empties the remains of the billy onto the fire and rolls up his swag.  Where is he to go?  What is he to do?  He ambles away from the billabong, no longer conscious of freedom, but thinking of what he has lost, wondering if he’ll ever see her again.

*  *  *  *  *

It is late afternoon.  He hears men’s voices coming from a clearing up ahead.  As he approaches the clearing, he puts on his trousers.  A group of men are in a paddock.  They are playing a game of some kind.  One of them throws a ball in the direction of another who is holding some kind of stick.  Others are standing around the paddock.  These men are both black and white and are having fun together.  The man with the stick hits the ball that is thrown at him and it comes flying in Unaarrimin’s direction.  An Aboriginal man is chasing the ball.  Unaarrimin steps into the clear and the ball comes to a stop at his feet.  He’s wondering if it is alright to pick it up and toss it to the man running toward him.  But before he can act, he hears the Aboriginal man shout out his name.

“Unaarrimin!” the man calls.

Now he looks more carefully at the man coming toward him and recognizes him from corroboree days.  King Cole is on him and grabs him by the shoulders for a mighty hug.  In language, he says, “Hello, my brother.  I am happy to see you. ”  

It takes a moment for Unaarrimin to remember.  Then he says, “Bripumyarrimin?”  

“I am called King Cole now.”

“King Cole?”

“Yes.  It is because none of the white fellas can pronounce my name.  What are you doing?  Why are you here?  Last I knew you were over at Mullagh Station.”

“They ran me off.”

“Why would they do that?  What happened?  What did you do?”

“Nothing.  I think Mrs. Buckingham was afraid of what I might do.  I don’t know.”

“So, you are free?  Do you have work?”

“I am as free as a cockatoo.”

“You have to come with me.  The Edwards run Pine Hills and they are good people.  You’ll meet them and I’ll make sure they give you a job here.  Murrumgunarriman and Boninbarngeet are here too.”  

“They are?”

“Yep, but like me, they have “white” names too.”

“What are they called?”

“Two Penny and Tiger.”


About the Author

Chris Wallace is a creative resource.  

As an actor, he was a regular on the hit daytime drama, All My Children, created the role of The Half-Percenter in Joe Papp’s production, Mondongo, appeared in countless television programs, including The Incredible Hulk, The Mary Tyler Moore Hour and had a starring role in the holiday horror classic film, New Year’s Evil.  

As a producer, he put on New York: A Great Place to Live at Lincoln Center which kicked off New York City’s Diamond Jubilee; for Channel Five in New York, he produced the highly acclaimed Harlem Cultural Festival; at the Apollo Theatre in Harlem, he produced Uptown Sunday Afternoon, which was hosted by Harry Belafonte and featured Richard Pryor, Bill Withers, and a galaxy of other performers; for the National Organization for Women, he produced A Valentine’s Day Tribute to Woman at New York’s Town Hall;  was associate producer of the first Ali-Frazier Heavyweight Championship Fight at Madison Square Garden, and produced the gigantic block party, hosted by Gwen Verdon, which named West 46th Street as Restaurant Row. .

He earned the Silver Award at the New York International Film and Television Festival for In the Balance, a film that advocated sustainability and common sense in wildlife management.  It was also singled out by the Department of the Interior as one of the best films of its kind.  Chris wrote, narrated and wrote the musical score for that film.

He performed on several children’s television programs in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Washington D.C. and Jacksonville, singing his original children’s songs.  In Hollywood, he performed them for all denominations of Big Brothers and Big Sisters of America.  He created a musical, A Special Thing to Be, at the Los Angeles Children’s Museum that featured his kids’ songs and the museum’s children’s chorus.

He wrote the songs for two children’s theatre productions in Hollywood, Hooray, Here Comes the Circus and Sleeping Beauty; wrote and performed the songs on Strong Kids, Safe Kids, a video produced by Henry Winkler for Paramount that dealt with the protection of children from sexual molestation and exploitation.  He created his first musical revue, Greatest Hits, in Hollywood, which played several venues, including Carlos ‘n’ Charlie’s on Sunset Strip and The Backlot in West Hollywood.

Upon relocating to Australia, he produced A Helping Hand at the Victorian Arts Centre, a benefit for Quadriplegic Hand Foundation; wrote book, music and lyrics for Nothing to Wear, a musical based on “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” also produced at the Victorian Arts Centre.  He created a one-man show, A Thing of Shreds & Patches, for the Melbourne Fringe Festival; created another one-man show, The Mark Twain You Don’t Know, which toured Australia, then Pacific Palisades, California, and played in New York City on the 100th anniversary of Mark Twain’s death.  He created several cabaret shows for The Butterfly Club in Melbourne, most notable of which was Les Femmes which featured an all female cast.  He wrote, produced and performed in Huckleberry: A Musical Adventure which premiered in Melbourne.

Which brings us to The Dreaming Team.  This is his second book.  The first, Hollywood Mosaic is written under the pen name, Pete Joseph.

You can visit his website at www.olentangymusic.com. 

Monday, February 12, 2024

Chapter One: Going There: Tales from the Riviera and Beyond by Donna Fletcher Crow

 

Title: Going There: Tales from the Riviera and Beyond
Author: Donna Fletcher Crow
Publisher: Verity Press
Publication Date: December 3, 2023
Pages: 152
Genre: Travel Memoir / Short Story Collection

In the summer of 2021 my daughter-in-law and I slipped through a brief window of sanity in a world driven mad by the Covid pandemic. Our purpose was to see my granddaughter Jane to a summer program in Monaco, then back to her ballet school in Switzerland. In spite of restrictions, protests, and nail-biting worries, the result was a marvelous experience.

I invited characters from my mystery series to join me in my imagination and have their own adventures in each setting. Their encounters are: Nice: “The Crime of Passion”; St Tropez: “The Mother Decrees”; Villefrance-sur-de-mer: “The Ghost Boy”; Monaco: “Fracas in Monaco”; The Loire Valley: “The Old Winemaker”;  Saint Gallen: “Whispers of Legend”.

The final coda is “Home Another Way” As 2 years later I return from quite a different trip aboard the Queen Mary 2 and my characters join in the celebrations as worlds coincide.

More information on the book GOING THERE: TALES FROM THE RIVIERA AND BEYOND can be found at https://www.amazon.com/Going-There-Tales-Riviera-Beyond-ebook/dp/B0CPHBRVJH?ref_=ast_author_mpb.

First Chapter

The Beginning

Summer 2021

Okay, I booked this trip knowing the world—and especially travel—was still in the grip of a pandemic. Covid-19 was causing cancellations, cutbacks, and inconvenient constraints. It was, however, hardly the first international trip I had undertaken at a time of world-wide crisis.

But first. Let me explain. Granddaughter Jane had an interval between her summer program at the Princess Grace Ballet School in Monaco and her return to her regular studies in Basel. Daughter-in-law Kelly and I were convinced she needed our chaperonage. Never mind that Jane had recently turned a very mature 19, was securely locked in during her time in Monaco, and that she knows Central Europe far better than either one of us…

The fact is, though, Kelly and I are both writers, so we’re forever keen for new experiences to add to our tool kits.  Kelly is a food writer with a Cordon Bleu Grand Diplome, and I am always eager for all things literary—especially intriguing settings for murder to ensue. Kelly crafted an itinerary perfectly suited to both our interests. 

My husband took some convincing. People were still dying of the dreaded virus. We read daily of travelers detained for weeks in hotel rooms at their own expense when they tested positive. Even if one passed the crucial medical test required to board a plane, there would be numerous inconveniences (and there were many reports of tests giving “false positives”)… I smiled and nodded and said, “Yes, dear.” And continued packing.

After all, travel restrictions had eased to the point of international travel not being entirely forbidden as it had been for the previous 18 months. Besides, as I said earlier, I had done this before. 

In 2001 I took one of the first planes to fly out of Boise after 9/11. The international crisis certainly added a frisson to my “Holy Longing for Sacred Places” pilgrimage through England and Scotland. Some of my most vivid memories include smiling at the lapel pins of crossed Union Jacks and Stars and Strips one saw everywhere in London. And sitting on a remote beach at the back of Holy Island—on the spot where Vikings first invaded England—and seeing Royal Air Force fighter jets roar overhead. Still, I knew my shivers and awareness of distant war could hold nothing to the terror the Lindisfarne monks had experienced. Twenty years later I asked, What terrors could the inconveniences of a world-wide pandemic hold for me?

And even that was hardly my first experience traveling in troubled times. In 1996 I had set out for Northern Ireland shortly after the signing of the Good Friday Agreement with my teenage daughter and her best friend in tow. Thankfully, the IRA bombs that exploded two blocks from the library where I was researching and the bomb that demolished a London bus while we were there didn’t phase us. But the bombing of Central Manchester profoundly influence the book I was working on.

Again, there had been the time in March of 2003, when I was in retreat at a monastery in Yorkshire and the American president issued an ultimatum giving Saddam Hussein 48 hours to disarm. My husband called and said, “Come home. Now. There will be war.” 

My dash the length of England down to London remains a blur in my mind, but I will never forget crossing London in the tube, knowing that if the expected gas attack were to happen then, the noxious cloud would spread down the tunnels unhindered.

No, I wasn’t terrified, or even frightened. As is my normal fallback position, I took the historical perspective. My uppermost thought was: Is this what it was like during the Blitz?

So, in more modern times, as I sat out my postponed flight in the Brussels airport, awaiting a rescheduled plane with a worse connection and less comfortable seat, and much-delayed arrival, (who wants to be sitting in an airport when they could be on a beach in Nice?)

my mind turned to those pivotal moments that fill the history books I love to read. What was it like for the little, everyday people caught up in the momentum of the times? My experiences are small potatoes, indeed, compared to the great annals, but realizing that my inconveniences are part of experiencing history helps relieve the frustration and adds a wider meaning to the moment.

What’s having to wear a face mask compared to wearing a gas mask? What sort of depravation is a pre-packaged sanitized meal (no matter how weird hummus and bruschetta tasted for breakfast) compared to years of rationing? Or even starvation? Some day will we be talking about having a “good lockdown” like our parents or grandparents talked about a “good war”?

Just a year ago our nightly walk in the park near our home was a great adventure. Our only outing. Today, since the airplanes and airports are less full, we intrepid ones who have ventured out—perhaps beyond our comfort zone, and willing to put up with the added inconveniences for family or business needs—find an element of camaraderie in the shared adventure; if not actual danger.

As my waiting dragged on, my mind turned to the writing I hoped this foray into the unknown would inspire. A series of blog articles, no doubt, but what else? A novel for one of the three mystery series I write? Hmm—perhaps Felicity and Antony from my Monastery Murders could be visiting a monastery in France or Switzerland and find a gripping puzzle that led them to look into ages past? Or Lord and Lady Danvers from my Victorian true-crime series could travel to the continent—after all, the Victorians were inveterate travelers—and be drawn into a crime only they could solve? Or Elizabeth and Richard, my retired English lit professors, now living in England, what literary figures might they be studying on the Riviera when they inconveniently trip over a body?

Well, it did make the waiting go more quickly. And the questions returned many times during the ensuing days of gorgeous touring, but in the end they all presented me with ideas for short stories—which, Gentle Reader, I offer to you here.

About the Author

Donna Fletcher Crow, Novelist of British History, is an award-winning author who has published some 50 books in a career spanning more than 40 years. Her best-known work is Glastonbury, The Novel of Christian England, a grail search epic depicting 1500 years of British history. The Celtic Cross is a 10-book series covering the history of Scotland and England from the 6th to the 20th century. 

Crow writes 3 mystery series: The Monastery Murders, contemporary clerical mysteries with clues hidden deep in the past; Lord Danvers Investigates, Victorian true-crime stories within a fictional setting; and The Elizabeth and Richard literary suspense series, featuring various literary figures. Where There is Love is a 6-book biographical novel series of leaders of the early Evangelical Anglican movement. The Daughters of Courage is a semi-autobiographical trilogy family saga of Idaho pioneers.

Reviewers routinely praise the quality of her writing and the depth of her research. Crow says she tries never to write about a place she hasn’t visited and one of her goals in writing is to give her readers a you-are-there experience.

Donna and her husband of 60 years live in Boise, Idaho. They have 4 children and 15 grandchildren, and she is an avid gardener.

Author Links  

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

Thursday, January 18, 2024

Chapter One: Overflow with Hope (Hope Series Book 5) by E.C. Jackson

 

Title: Overflow with Hope Book 5
Author: E.C. Jackson
Publisher: Independent
Publication Date: September 28, 2020
Pages: 241
Genre: Inspirational Romance

Two men. One wrong choice. 

Tempia Wade’s life had jumped the rails. 

One fateful night, she believed a stranger’s lie rather than the assurance of a trusted friend. For her lapse in judgment, she paid an agonizing price. 

Her now-bankrupt life featured shattered dreams, ruined friendships, and the loss of a promising relationship. Now, two years later, the twenty-three-year-old prayed for a second chance with the man she had fallen for at first sight. 

Would Cory Sanders finally overlook her egregious mistake in accepting a next-day date and liaison with another man? Or would she have to truly accept life without him?  

Buy Link

Amazon

First Chapter

After installing HVAC systems at a new apartment complex, twenty-eight-year-old Cory Sanders should’ve headed home, eaten a sandwich, and stretched his five-foot-eleven-inch frame onto his king-sized bed. But today he sought diversions at a friend’s pool hall. The short trek across the parking lot led him inside a large yet cozy space teeming with some of his favorite folks. As his eyes adjusted to dim lighting, he stepped up to the counter of the juice and coffee bar. 

Glancing at Cory, a middle-aged woman, brown eyes alert, paused her conversation with a customer. “Wait till I tell Dan who stopped by on a late Friday afternoon,” she said to Cory. “Of course, neither he nor our sons will believe me.” 

Miss Laura’s husband, Dan, had been Cory’s father’s best friend since their HVAC training program days. He and his youngest son worked for Cory’s father’s heating and cooling business, while his wife helped their oldest son, Scott, run his pool hall. 

“Keep our secret, Miss Laura, or someone will demand I show up more often.”

She winked as she laughed. “If anyone asks me, I’ll say you were just winding down from a tough workday.”

Cory chuckled. “Sounds like the perfect plan,” he said. “One pomegranate slush, please. And Miss Laura, let your son know adding slushes to the juice menu was an excellent idea. If he asks, tell him to add grilled cheese, hamburgers, and hot sausage sandwiches.”

“More approval will swell his head. Thank God, he won’t inquire.”  

“I bet you he’d consider those suggestions if he did.”

“Serving food ain’t happening on my watch. This mama has enough tasks without piling on more. We’ll hold off on a food menu until Scott quits his day job.”

As Cory left the counter, Miss Laura snuck in, “See you next Friday.” 

While sipping his slush, Cory peered around the cavernous room and took in the lively atmosphere. Ten pool tables were strategically set up to maximize solo and group play. Walking across the space, he passed a group of men ribbing each other. A fifty-something man pocketed a ball then spotted Cory. “Lookee here. Grab a pool stick, son.”

Cory sat on a seat close to the action and pointed at the bald, clean-shaven man. “Not today. I just came to watch you masters clean the table.”

“Take notes,” another man said. “Stu left this little boy hanging in the pocket.”

With that, Cory realized he had chosen the correct diversion after all. His bed and sandwich could wait until later that evening. These lively antics might delete a tiresome woman from his mind. Last year, he had purged her from his heart, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never seem to evict her from his mind. He hoped that changing his long-established habits might help.

###

An inner battle that had begun the previous day woke up twenty-three-year-old Tempia Wade from a disturbed sleep. On her drive home from work yesterday, Tempia’s dream of magically meeting up with Cory had lost steam. Before climbing into bed, dejection had plunged her into an emotional tailspin. This morning, as reality further hit, her hopes of their celebrating the one-year anniversary of her divorce from Quince died. Many unfulfilled dreams perished at the same time. Cory, the man who had held her future in his hands, had banished Tempia from his life fourteen months ago. She couldn’t understand why he had rejected her, but it was evident that leaving an emotionally abusive husband hadn’t been enough. 

For endless months, she had prayed they would cement a lifelong relationship. Vivid recollections of Cory’s constant support before his defection still provided comfort and relief. 

If only she and Cory could reconnect on a personal level.

Tempia rubbed her achy forehead. Old disastrous decisions and misjudgments pummeled her psyche full force. Her ex-husband’s grievous subterfuge played through her mind again and again. 

Locked on the war inside her head, Tempia squirmed on the bed until she broke the silence with her own loud sniffling sounds. Abundant teardrops streamed over her cheeks. 

She squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips into a single line. Her hands balled into tight fists. How could fourteen months spent rebuilding her life on a solid foundation amount to nothing? Pulling tissues from a box on the floor beside the bed, she reassessed yesterday’s wish that Cory would call her. 

She didn’t know what to do to help herself in that moment. She might as well lick her wounds. “Let it go. He won’t call.” She stared at the ceiling. “It is what it is. I single-handedly wrecked my own life.”

Tempia’s cell phone rang as she buried her head underneath the covers. 

“Rise and shine,” a laughing voice suggested. “Hibernating while I get ready for work is shameful. I adore having sunny days in early March. We could have gone shopping this afternoon if you’d told me before last night that you were taking today off.”

Tempia sat up in bed, listening to a shower spraying water in the background of the phone call. Her lifesaving best friend Gabby had struck again. This morning, the habitual late sleeper had awoken earlier than the birds just to lend support. 

Tempia cleared her throat, striving to strike the proper tone. “Thank you, ma’am. I needed a wake-up call.”

Gabby laughed outright. “Why? If you were getting pessimistic, stop it this minute.”

More tears rolled down Tempia’s soaked cheeks. “I just can’t get over how badly I messed up by marrying Quince and missing my chance with Cory. But don’t mind me. Jump into the shower and stop wasting hot water.” Tempia shook her head when she heard the water shut off. 

“Hope my water-conscious husband is still asleep. Temp, what person hasn’t made mistakes? We all, err, learn our lessons, then continue living.” 

At some point in her existence, Tempia had thought so too. That is, until she discovered some errors last forever and won’t ever be forgiven. “Yeah, but we don’t all wreck our lives during the process and stunt future growth.”

“And neither did you, my special friend. Listen. You corrected each miscalculation. You were formally divorced one year ago today, and dating Cory isn’t a lost cause. So, get over yourself. Celebrate a great success.”

“You have a special knack for making life sound better than it is.”

“Aw, pooh. I simply discovered back in junior high how to forgive my shortcomings. Now, forget the ex. No man is worth any woman living with depression. If the degenerate does come to mind, dwell on how you kicked his butt to the curb and regained your independence.”

Tempia’s shallow breaths subsided. A weight lifted off her overburdened shoulders, even though depression hovered just above its favorite resting spot. Once again, Gabrielle Stephens proved herself to be the best person anyone could call a friend. “The best friend in the world deserves a free lunch. Can you come over around noon?”

Laughter bubbled deep within Gabby’s throat. “Noonish it is. Until then, don’t forget that you won the victory in an overdue battle last year.”

“I love you, Gabby.”

“I love you more,” Gabby replied, ending the call.

Tempia practically hugged herself and sprang out of the bed. “Thank you, Lord. I needed a shot in the arm.” Her gaze lit upon a painting of a Parisian café that hung on a wall in the living area. She glanced at the alarm clock on the end table, then crawled back underneath the covers. 

Despite Gabby’s encouraging speech, past regrets immediately stole Tempia’s positive thoughts away from her considerable progress. However, she reminded herself that Gabby had made good points about her progress. After living through five pain-filled months, Tempia had launched a new beginning and risen above depression, remorse, and foolish mistakes. Yet, this morning, she couldn’t shake re-examining the life highlighted by an ill-fated courtship and marriage. Her hands gripped her beet-red blanket. 

On a January evening two years ago, Gabby’s fiancé had called while Gabby and Tempia were taking in an antiques show. Lifelong friends, they undertook weekly shopping expeditions, keeping at the forefront of each other’s lives. Tempia ogled a vintage curio cabinet as Gabby removed a pealing cell phone from her purse.

 “Rob said he’d brought enough work home to steal his entire weekend. He must be taking a break.” Her lips curving into a wide grin, Gabby took the call. The smile vanished. She turned around and faced the opposite direction. “Did I hear you correctly? . . . You’re right. The invitation is a huge surprise . . . Well, for one thing, you rarely redirect your evenings on short notice. Plus . . . Okay. I won’t go on. Tempia is standing beside me. I’ll ask her.” Muting the cell phone, she studied her friend. “Rob invited friends over for a game night. Wanna head over there?” 

Tempia had barely stopped her hands from clapping. “Are you serious? Yes. I’d love to go.” Even though Gabby and Rob had dated for three years, none of Gabby’s friends had been invited to his house. She’d often wondered why they hadn’t met any of his buddies. Also, three of her closest friends were engaged, and most of her other pals had steady dates. Tempia was the only single person in their group. Perhaps a likely candidate would attend Rob’s party. She just had to keep up hope that a good opportunity would arise—and maybe even bring a favorable outcome.

An hour later, Gabby parked across the street from her fiancé’s house, sprang out of the car, and strolled to the passenger door to wait for Tempia. Casually dressed in black-washed jeans, an aquamarine sweater, suede ankle boots, and a black leather jacket, the five-foot-six-inch beauty looked terrific.

Her hands wringing, Tempia frowned at her own shoes and clothes. Tan flats topped off the beige skinny-leg pants, navy-and-white sweater, and down jacket. The individual pieces numbered among her favorite clothes, but she wasn’t sure the total package was right for a get-together among strangers. A soft moan escaped through her parted lips until her head hung. 

The women crossed the street, climbed several steep stairs, and stepped onto the porch of the A-frame house. 

Gabby eyed her. “What’s wrong, Temp? If the dominoes are already in use, there are loads of other games we can play.” She frowned when Tempia remained silent. “Listen. At least pretend you’re happy about being here. Come on, girl. You enjoy playing games.” 

She certainly did—but only when secure within her safety net. “Not among people I’ve never met.” Tempia stared longingly at Gabby’s SUV.

Gabby laughed. “You can’t pray to meet new people on a lark. God not only hears our prayers, He also answers them. Capisce?” 

“Kinda, sorta. Did Rob say why he planned a party instead of clearing out his workload?”

“He only said, ‘You can thank me later.’ Whatever that cryptic remark implies.” 

Tempia searched her brain for any obvious reasons, then she grinned. “I’ve got it. He planned a special surprise for his soon-to-be bride.”

“At any rate, I’m half-starved. Let’s hope he catered his fiancée’s favorite foods.”

Tempia’s lips puckered as Gabby edged toward the door. She truly did want to meet new people, but trepidation was rearing its ugly head. Excitement wrestled anxiety in an uneven match. Rooted to the spot, she inspected her shoes one foot at a time before her lips turned downward. 

“How do people dress at game parties? I should have gone home and changed outfits.”

Gabby’s mouth gaped. “Why? Saturdays are our days to keep it simple. I’m dressed in jeans and a sweater.”

“But we’re at your fiancé’s house. You’ve probably met all or most of the people inside. Besides, you look good in everything. And your color combinations are fantastic.”

“Coming from you, the comment is hilarious. Unless you’re admitting I’m a fashion icon.” Laughter trilled from Gabby’s lips.  

Tempia glared. “Have I ever stated a different opinion?” 

“Yes. Numerous times. I’ll overlook your brain-freeze moment, but I will recall each word on our next shopping binge.”

“Quit skimping on accolades. Glowing reviews require nothing less than two thumbs-up.”  

Gabby was sidling closer to the door, but now she spun around. “Thank you much. The compliment is long overdue. Ready? It’s now or never.” 

Tempia slung her purse strap onto her right shoulder. “All right. Bring on the introductions.”

The door easily opened when Gabby twisted the doorknob. She smiled at Tempia, then she strolled inside the house.

After another glance at her shoes, Tempia fell in step behind her friend. Loud guffaws and enthusiastic conversations met the women inside the foyer. She sneaked a quick peek at her unperturbed friend. Tempia managed to calm down when Gabby’s eyes twinkled behind her blue-rimmed glasses. 

Gabby’s silent reassurance relaxed Tempia’s grip on her purse strap. She reminded herself that people let extra loose on the weekends when free from job restrictions, and she needed to keep her shunning of unrestrained behavior in check. Or . . . perhaps she should have eaten a good meal and gone home. As her ears acclimated to the constant noise, Tempia commanded her body to relax and scanned the crowd. 

Probably fifteen people were spread throughout two adjacent rooms. Wherever Tempia looked, people were laughing. Suddenly, she felt like someone was watching her. Her gaze swept the room, and there he sat. The lone exception to the noise. A good-looking man dressed in camel chinos and a smoke-gray T-shirt observed her from a corner chair. It seemed his gaze had pinpointed her arrival from the moment she entered the house. Could she get a closer inspection without outright staring? Somehow, he looked vaguely familiar. A fleeting glimpse of a face she couldn’t recapture came to mind. His seemingly low-key persona immediately attracted her. 

Was accepting Rob’s invitation the correct choice after all? Years of dating partygoers had compelled Tempia to reject gadabouts. She would rather be alone than coddling scoundrels and wasting her precious time. She turned away from the man to avoid his intense observation yet felt his gaze upon her back as she walked down the hallway. 

She caught up to Gabby, who dropped her jacket onto a bench in the hallway and entered the kitchen. Tempia followed suit. Once inside the room, Gabby uncovered all the platters on the table and heaped deli food onto a plate. “Not my first choice, but at least there’s food.”

“I would have chosen a deli restaurant after we left the antiques show.” Her plate in hand, Tempia drew up beside Gabby. Her greatest dilemma was gathering information about the attractive man without voicing interest. “Did you recognize the guy wearing chinos and a gray T-shirt?”

Please say yes. And that he is single. Available. And a perfect fit for me.  

Alertness highlighted her friend’s gaze. “Quick work. I’m impressed. Hold on while I check this fellow out.”

Gabby scurried toward the living room door then stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. A quizzical expression highlighted her features once she re-entered the kitchen. “Well, his being here is a huge surprise.” Studying her friend’s face, she hesitated. “Hold on, we just arrived, so you could have only gotten a brief glance. Are you interested in meeting Cory?” 

Gabby’s perplexed reaction to Rob’s friend surprised Tempia. “Um . . . I was until your bewilderment raised a few doubts. Do you personally know him?” She continued when Gabby nodded. “Do you like him? Does he have a girlfriend?”

“Ignore my initial reaction. Cory is Rob’s cousin and one of my favorite people. He’s single and a great catch. Last month, he came alone to his aunt’s thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.” She picked up her overstuffed plate. “And get this: you and he share similar idiosyncrasies.”

Tempia glanced up while splashing dressing on her salad. “It’s too early in the evening for personality wisecracks. I am not an eccentric person. Oops.” Blue-cheese dressing flowed across her plate. In one smooth motion, she piled additional lettuce on top to help sop it up. 

Gabby passed her extra napkins. “Yeah. You are. Luckily, Cory shares some of your quirks. Stop frowning. Frowners have fine lines etched into their skin before fifty.”

“Oh hush.” Tempia rolled her eyes.

Gabby giggled. “You know, Rob throwing this party was definitely a surprise. However, Cory’s joining us is an even greater one. I still can’t believe he came.”

“Why not? You said Cory and Rob are cousins.”

Gabby shrugged. “Let’s just agree that the reason for our unexpected summons has become clear. Who knows. We might rack up a fun night.”

Tempia licked her lips. “I pray to God we do, Gab. Time is running out for me.”

“Sheer baloney. Whoever heard of a twenty-one-year-old spinster?” Gabby’s objective gaze flitted over her friend. “Adorable as ever. Let’s hit the romance trail. Chin up, please. Look forward to your grand entrance.” Gabby scooted across the floor.

Oh boy. Tempia hadn’t gone on any dates since moving out of her parents’ house. Here’s to the next phase in my suspended life. Hope it’s more than I expected.

She matched her friend’s steady gait, and the women retraced their steps down the hallway. Inside the living room doorway, Gabby lowered her head, speaking in a soft voice. “Interesting. Your potential man changed his seat closer to Rob, plus he’s eyeing you. Get ready for a sweet introduction.” Her teasing grin lit upon her friend. “Here we go, superstar. This will only take a moment.”

As Tempia padded across the floor, she could feel Cory’s gaze upon her. She stole a quick peek. Right as ever. Cory observed her progress the entire way. Halfway across the room, she skidded on objects scattered across the floor. The balancing act to stay upright ended when she careened onto the sofa where he sat. Her salad-filled plate spilled onto his lap. Vegetables drenched in blue-cheese dressing hit his pants and ran down onto his shoes.  

The sudden silence in the room spoke volumes. Tempia struggled to regain her composure. Apology ready, she hesitated.  

The couple sitting on the love seat snickered in her face. “What a neat trick,” the man said.

The woman holding his hand shook her head. “What will you do for an encore? Jump up and down on one foot?” 

Tempia’s legs wobbled while her heartbeat quickened. A glance around the space increased her angst. Several people playing a board game had stood up to watch. A group in the next room visibly gawked. Everyone who scrutinized her performance seemed to move around in slow motion.

The dressing-covered man directed a crushing glance at the snarky couple, making everyone go silent.

Tears welled up in Tempia’s eyes. Brushing fingers across her mouth, her hands splayed on each cheek. “I am so sorry. Please don’t hold this accident against me.” She scanned the floor behind her, identifying her trip hazard. She then looked at the man’s twinkling eyes. While Cory smiled at her, she pointed behind her back. “I tripped on those scattered dominoes.”  

His mouth broke into a wide grin. “Hey, no biggie. Relax.” The seemingly composed man dumped food back onto the disposable plate. 

“Bravo,” an auburn-haired man remarked. “Great response, Cory. Keep the goal in focus, man.”

As several people agreed with his glowing assessment, Tempia squashed tears and glanced at Gabby.

Perched on the seat beside Rob, Gabby’s eyelids fluttered. Since their childhood days, the friends had used rapid blinking as their steadfast support. “Cory Sanders, meet my best bud, Tempia Wade. Temp, Cory is Rob’s cousin.” Her regularly low-pitched voice raised an octave. “Momentum is on our side, folks. I dare any of you to top our grand entrance.” 

Once again, Gabby made an incredible ally. Tempia refocused on Cory, stammering through another apology. 

Cory winked. “The first apology was accepted but unnecessary. I’m certain you would rather chat with me than drop food onto my lap.” 

He dumped more salad pieces onto the plate, then he set the plate on a side table. When he finished, the blonde beauty sitting beside him cleaned up the floor with wet wipes. More food had landed on Cory than on the tile.

“Thanks, Tina,” Cory said. “Do you always carry those things around?”

“Of course. With two small children, I keep wet wipes handy for quick clean-up jobs.”

Rising from the sofa, Cory touched Tempia’s arms. A sympathetic gaze studied her eyes, which held back fresh tears. “Don’t sweat small stuff. We’re fine. I’ll clean myself up while you fix yourself another plate.” 

Tempia’s body quivered. Small bumps appeared on each arm. His soothing grin and gentle speech had won her heart. She was anchored on the pathway to a promising new adventure.

Before she could respond, an attractive man dressed in a black-and-gold jogging suit appeared by Tempia’s side, giving her elbow a slight jerk. 

Cory’s gaze remained upon her face. “Think positive thoughts about me until I can speak for myself. I’ll quickly clean myself up and then sit with you while you eat.” 

At that exact moment, Tempia completely fell for Rob’s cousin. He is handsome, nice, and still interested in me. Yay! Blushes that had overtaken her body diminished. Thank God she had accepted Rob’s invitation. “You’re a nice man, Cory. But I promise on this trip I won’t choose salad.”

Soft laugh lines appeared around his mouth. “Eat whatever makes you happy.” Eyeing the man glued to Tempia’s side, Cory exited the living room.

While Tempia watched Cory’s departure, the stranger’s strong grip left her elbow and fastened onto her hand. He gave a brief bow. “Quince Hightower Jones. An amiable helper at your service.” 

Tempia stared at him through misty eyes. “Tempia Wade. Gabby’s clumsy friend.”

Sparkles lit his dark-brown eyes. “Sweet, honest, and delectable. I can feel the heat rising between us.” 

“Didn’t you use that same tired line in high school?” said the man who had complimented Cory.

Quince glared at him. 

“Sounds more like it’s from junior high,” the wet-wipe lady quipped. 

Quince sneered. “Ignore the echo chamber. I’ll escort you to the kitchen, Gabby’s friend. Glad we came.” 

Who was the “we” he referred to? Were other guests going on a food run with them? Tempia glanced as far as she could around both rooms, then gazed at the man who boldly studied her. His expression posed an undefinable question. 

“We? Who are you referring to?” she asked.

A low chuckle rumbled forth from deep within his throat. “I adore naivety in women. Us, sweetheart. Tempia and Quince.” Squeezing her fingers, Quince led her out of the room.

About the Author

E. C. Jackson began her writing career with the full-length play Pajama Party. Thirty-one years later, she adapted the play into Pajama Party: The Story, a companion book to the second book in the five-book standalone Hope series. 

Jackson’s favorite pastime is reading fiction. She enjoys taking the journey along with the characters in the books. That also led to her unorthodox approach to story writing. Her vision for each book she writes is to immerse readers into the storyline so they become connected with each character.  

“The Write Way: A Real Slice of Life” is the slogan on her Facebook author page. She feels that if every person reading her books feels connected to the characters, her job is done.

Author Links  

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Sunday, January 7, 2024

Chapter One: The Confident Hope (Hope Series Book 4) by E.C. Jackson

 

Title: The Confident Hope: Hope Series Book 4
Author: E.C. Jackson
Publisher: Independent
Publication Date: September 28, 2020
Pages: 338
Genre: Inspirational Romance

Is there hope for this love between friends?

Pamela Hayes is a smart, successful business owner with a supportive family and a thriving bakery. She should be the happiest girl in the world. But she can’t shake the melancholy that accompanies every conversation she has with her best friend, Mark. Pamela doesn’t know how much longer she can hide her true feelings.

Why can’t Mark see how perfect they would be together? She would make a much better girlfriend than the one he currently has. Pamela prays he’ll come to his senses soon and realize he’s with the wrong girl. But when her dream comes true, it isn’t the fantasy she had envisioned.

There is trouble in paradise from the start, and all the red flags she’s been ignoring are starting to threaten her confidence…and her relationship with Mark. She’ll have to rely on family and her faith in God to help her secure the hope she so desperately needs.

Buy Link

Amazon

First Chapter

Motes reflected in the sunlight that beamed through an eastern bedroom window. Background noise filtered past closed doors. Turning over in bed onto her stomach, Pamela Hayes yanked a beige satin comforter off the floor with one hand. That same hand then tossed a navy-blue neck pillow upon the bed. Footsteps on the other side of the door grabbed her attention.

Mom’s on her Saturday-morning prowl. Five, four, three, two, one …

Anna Hayes’s head poked inside her daughter’s bedroom. Hallway lighting bathed her trim figure in artificial brightness. “Morning, babe. Touching base before I go.” Her warm gaze surveyed the tousled bed. “From the tangled cover, it looks like you had a rough night.”

With a hand covering her yawn, Pamela shook her head and turned onto her side. “Just my normal Friday night tug-of-war. It’s my preferred method of winding down.”

Anna’s soft laugh sounded like music. “Any special plans today?”

Leaning on her elbow, Pamela rested her face on spread fingers as she gazed at her mother. Forty-eight-year-old Anna wore desert-green ankle boots, cropped white pants, and an oversized olive-green sweater. A brown suede bag hung over her shoulder. 

“You look like a dream, Mom. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d think you were going out with someone special.” 

Laughter flitted through slightly parted lips. “I’m late. Give me a quick rundown on your activities for today.”

Oh boy. I had hoped she wouldn’t ask. Better mention my afternoon expedition last. 

“Shopping for a spring wardrobe around noon. My jeans are tatty. And then, shooting the rapids.” 

The door opened wider as Anna grasped the doorknob. “Water rafting somewhere near South Town?”

“Oklahoma City. The spring season begins today. It’s safe, Mom. Stop frowning.”

“I’m sure they take safety precautions. But promise to be extra careful. I can do without mental pictures of my twenty-five-year-old daughter drowning.”

Pamela flopped onto her back. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you. I love surrender whenever I hear it.” Anna checked her watch. “I’ll be out late. Don’t hesitate to call if you need me.” 

After those parting words, her mother floated out of the house. Her all-day Saturday excursions had begun late last year. A seeming whim had developed into a lengthy pattern.

After the front door lock clicked, a sleepy Pamela hid her head beneath the sheets and immediately fell back to sleep. 

###

Fully dressed, Pamela sat at the kitchen table picking single oats out of her favorite cereal bowl. She had eaten breakfast from the same dish since high school. 

She snapped the milk carton closed. As she stuffed a heaping spoonful of cereal into her mouth, the doorbell rang. Her eyebrows arched. Who visited people unannounced at nine thirty-six on a Saturday morning? Her brother Skylar and his wife Melinda used their key when they visited. Was Anna expecting a package she hadn’t mentioned to Pamela? 

As Pamela reached the front door, she put one eye up to the peephole. “Ack. Ack. Ack. Ahem.” She patted her chest, swallowing the stuck food. Mark Simon, wearing a hoodie and with his hands stuffed inside jean pockets, faced away from the door. He glanced at his car, then at his shoes. When a tremor shook his body, he perused the cloudless sky until concentrating on his feet again.

Pamela knew Mark seldom visited anybody’s house, especially on weekends. He saved his free time for an abominable woman. But today, something had gotten the Saturday late-sleeper out of bed before noon—and over to her house. Pamela bet it wasn’t because of a sudden, unshakeable desire to visit his friend.

She blew air through pursed lips and wrapped her arms around her body.

Here we go. Lights. Camera. Action. 

She unlocked and opened the door, leaning on the doorframe. “Welcome. I’m surprised to see you. Glad you stopped by.”

“Is your mother home? We can grab breakfast out if she is.” Hooded eyelids hid his pupils. 

From his demeanor, Pamela knew this wasn’t a “let me cool off a moment” visit. Mark required sympathetic ears. 

Pamela could tell her lazy morning was quickly going to morph into a difficult afternoon—and possibly an unsettled evening. Golden toasted oats soaked in her milk-filled bowl. Her visions of shopping for a new spring wardrobe evaporated. Water rafting waved goodbye. 

Mark rang Pamela’s doorbell whenever his life turned upside down. On those days, he remembered his go-to sounding board. Eleven years of friendship. Might as well invite her pal indoors and forget about her heartbreak when he says how much he loves Jessica.

“You missed Mom by two hours. Lately she spends Saturdays with friends.”

Mark glanced everywhere except at her face. 

She hadn’t seen him anguished before. Angry, numerous times; distraught, not once. 

“Ooh, casual clothes. You haven’t worn a hoodie and sneakers since college.” She stole another look. Gucci sneakers.

Hands stuffed inside his pockets, Mark shrugged. “We only see each other on our afternoon lunch dates during the week. Then, I’m always in business attire.” Head held back, his vacant gaze touched her heart. Tears pooled in the corners of each of Mark’s eyes.

Pamela couldn’t stay detached when friends cried for help. She could tell that Jessica Hubbard had either cheated on Mark or said goodbye. The writing had been on the wall three years earlier, on the day the couple met. Yet just this past Thursday, Mark had told Pamela he’d purchased an engagement ring for Jessica. Did Jessica reject Mark’s marriage proposal? If she had, he should consider himself lucky to have avoided a disastrous marriage.

She waved him in with a finger. “Come in. Stay awhile.” She thought about her now-soggy cereal. “Eat breakfast with me. I was eating when the doorbell rang.” 

When he stepped inside, she locked the door and headed down the hall. They had small talk as they made their way to the kitchen.

He trailed her steps into the room, frowning at the oversized bowl. “Your bowl looks overloaded. Your cereal almost spilled on the table.”  

“Join me for breakfast,” Pamela said, searching for ways to lift Mark’s spirit. 

The silent man still looked everywhere except at her. Shoulders drooping, his shiny gaze finally captured hers. 

From his obvious distress, Pamela realized the romance had ended. Jessica must have done the dumping. 

Oh, Mark. I’m sorry she called it off instead of you. 

“Want anything to eat?” she asked as he turned away. 

“No, thanks.” Leaning on the counter, he pointed at her bowl. “Still habit-driven. You’re eating the same things for breakfast from the same bowl and wearing your hair in a ponytail like you did in your teens.” Mark grinned when she glanced at him. “That’s not criticism. Just an honest observation. Please, eat.” 

“Mom sets our clocks by my actions.” She glanced at the milk carton, cereal box, and honey. Tidy, tidy. Everything must occupy a designated place.

Pamela returned the milk carton to the refrigerator and the cereal box and honey to the pantry. 

“Grab a seat while I finish eating.”

She scooped up a spoonful of mushy cereal. The texture was awful. Her body shuddered as she stared at the spoon.

“I’m unfit company this morning,” Mark said with a sigh. “My loyal friend deserves better.” 

Pamela could tell Mark would stay until her mother arrived home. She plopped her full spoon into the bowl. A distraught Mark was interrupting her plans once again. 

She shoved the milk-logged mess aside. 

“I’m here when you need me,” she said. “What happened?” 

He slumped on the stool. “Only if you continue eating. I interrupted your breakfast.” 

“Hold on while I fix myself a fresh bowl. Take a seat at the table. I’ll be right back.”

Pamela felt his gaze follow her movements until she joined him at the table. 

“I’ll get to the crux of the problem.” Head lowered, he poured his heart out while she ate. 

Leaning back into the chair, he fished a ring from his pocket. Last week, Mark had shown Pamela a picture of an engagement ring over lunch as he talked about planning to propose to Jessica. The 18-karat, rose gold morganite ring with pavé diamonds had mesmerized Pamela. How much money had he wasted on this unaccepted bribe to marry him? 

 Tears welled in his eyes. He kissed the stone then slid the ring across the table.

“Do with this bauble whatever you please,” he said. “Last night the ungrateful cheater dismissed me and my gift. She’s getting married next month.”

“No, thank you. Disposing of the ring is your call.” The stone glistened as she placed the ring into his palm and closed his hand. “Sell it in your father’s pawn shop.” 

Mark should have been thanking God for liberation. He had allowed Jessica to use him. He should have seen this coming when the couple first met. Jessica had exposed her uncaring, contemptible, and unapologetic nature three years ago. How could he be shocked now?

At any rate, he should be happy his prison guard had set him free.

Mark had fallen in love with a narcissist instead of with his trusted friend. Choking back tears, Pamela reached across the table. She grasped Mark’s hand and squeezed tight.

About the Author

E. C. Jackson began her writing career with the full-length play Pajama Party. Thirty-one years later, she adapted the play into Pajama Party: The Story, a companion book to the second book in the five-book standalone Hope series. 

Jackson’s favorite pastime is reading fiction. She enjoys taking the journey along with the characters in the books. That also led to her unorthodox approach to story writing. Her vision for each book she writes is to immerse readers into the storyline so they become connected with each character.  

“The Write Way: A Real Slice of Life” is the slogan on her Facebook author page. She feels that if every person reading her books feels connected to the characters, her job is done.

Author Links  

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Monday, January 1, 2024

Chapter One: The Certain Hope (Hope Series Book #3) by E.C. Jackson

 

Title: The Certain Hope: Hope Series Book 3
Author: E.C. Jackson
Publisher: Independent
Publication Date: December 5, 2018
Pages: 263
Genre: Inspirational Romance

Love at first sight. It’s every girl’s dream. But Tara Simpkins is finding out it’s not as easy as it seems. Is this truly the man God sent to be her husband, or is she just desperate to escape her loneliness? The recent loss of both parents has left her reeling, and close friends don’t think she’s in any position to make major life decisions. She and her new-found love are convinced they can live happily ever after in the home of their dreams. His family thinks he’s moving way too fast and might disappoint the kind-hearted woman he’s fallen head over heels for. And then there’s Leah. Leah is supposed to be part of his past, but what if she decides she’s his future? Tara’s match made in Heaven may be over before it truly begins.

Buy Link

Amazon

BOOK BLURB:

Love at first sight. It’s every girl’s dream. But Tara Simpkins is finding out it’s not as easy as it seems. Is this truly the man God sent to be her husband, or is she just desperate to escape her loneliness? The recent loss of both parents has left her reeling, and close friends don’t think she’s in any position to make major life decisions. She and her new-found love are convinced they can live happily ever after in the home of their dreams. His family thinks he’s moving way too fast and might disappoint the kind-hearted woman he’s fallen head over heels for. And then there’s Leah. Leah is supposed to be part of his past, but what if she decides she’s his future? Tara’s match made in Heaven may be over before it truly begins.

Buy Link

Amazon

First Chapter

Tara Simpkins nibbled her balled fist, hoping to turn a rout into a win. Andy had spent three days installing her roof. He’d come into her life last Friday and was the perfect man. But unless she developed a way to keep him close, his exit would be speedier than his entrance had been. 

The handsome roofer had captured her attention his first day on the job. He had even appeared mesmerized by Tara. That had never happened before. Men ran from her, not to her. She couldn’t tell what prompted his interest in her, yet he continued to hang around. She loved the chase but was unsure how to get herself caught. And that dilemma wouldn’t get resolved soon. 

Andy seemed like her dream man. He was adept at keeping a conversation going, even though she wasn’t. Plus, he’d seemed curious about his customer in a non-threatening way. He resembled an old friend. The charisma he oozed added to his appeal.

Andy engaged her in conversation, despite her ignoring his charm. Thoroughly smitten, she downplayed his attention. Because of that, he seemed to slow the hunt. But he still knocked on her door each evening after the work ended. 

Tara had come to expect those knocks. How would she survive once they stopped?

Now, the dreaded last day had arrived. Could she keep from becoming an afterthought?

The crew labored on the roof as Tara fretted on the sofa. 

She didn’t know how to reclaim the ground she’d lost. Ground she’d thrown away, she reminded herself. Her ruse of indifference had created a gap she didn’t know how to close. Of course she was interested in Andy. No sane woman rejected a personable man who wanted her. Especially if the interest was mutual.

She longed to cement a relationship, but she hadn’t spent time with a man on a personal basis. Because of that, Tara felt awkward making small talk while Andy made advances. Her insides quivered whenever he drew near. Her thoughts went haywire, and her stomach somersaulted against her ribs. This was an unfamiliar situation for her thirty-two-year-old self. The man had eons more experience than she had. She had none.

Thirty-something women shouldn’t feel awkward talking to magnetic men.

Tara had taken three personal days off from work to snag him while he worked on her house. Instead of spending the time endearing herself to Andy, she’d daydreamed throughout the house. She couldn’t think of a coherent plan. Days had been wasted with moping. Her gaze was riveted to the window. Knowing Andy was there consoled her. She sneaked peeks as he scurried up and down the ladder. At least the crew’s jovialness lifted her spirits. They sang and joked as they worked. 

The doorbell chimed what she termed his signature ring: one long peal, followed by two shorter ones. Saying goodbye might ruin her. Hair patted into place, she opened the door with an unsteady hand.

Andy leaned on the rail, watching the door fling open. The six men who worked with him stood at his side. Silence reigned. They stood there, grinning at her. 

Tara couldn’t resist returning the smiles. Their noisy camaraderie while they worked would be missed.

“We’re finished.” Andy watched her closely, as if hoping she’d take the fiftieth chance to make it personal. 

A lump formed inside Tara’s throat. “Ahem. Ahem.” No reply croaked out. 

The workers’ gazes switched from her to Andy. 

Their eyes showed laughter. Their lips were silent.

Tara wanted to sink through the porch. 

Andy winked at her. An impish grin spread across his face. “The men wanted to say goodbye.” 

Oh my goodness. The workers cared enough to wait and say goodbye. 

So did Andy. Maybe there was still hope for a relationship with him. Uncontrollable joy pushed her into speech. 

“Thanks, guys. You all did an incredible job. Now I can’t see the sky from the third floor.” 

She laughed. And the men laughed with her. 

Their liveliness brought memories of good times in my life. My mind came awake with each song. Their playful words made me want to live again. It reminded me that everything good hasn’t been lost.

“Goodbye,” the men chorused in unison.

“See you in fifteen years,” the tallest man added.

With a hand wave, they headed toward their vehicles, anxious to get away. The crew was tired after three days of physical labor. 

Andy studied her as the group broke up. “Remember, flat roofs need a yearly wipe down for longevity.” Eyes gleaming, he paused and leaned closer. “But why wait? I’ll make a house call sooner if you ring me.” 

Tara felt like a tongue-tied five-year-old. 

Andy, make it simple. Ask for a date, if you want one. I’m uncertain, not disinterested.

He sighed and offered the papers he held. “I look forward to the next visit. Don’t make me wait. A year is three hundred sixty-five days away.” 

With a salute, he left the porch and didn’t look back. 

Tara agonized over her next step. She held up the papers he’d given her and shouted after him, “I’ll grab my checkbook. Jackie in your office requested payment upon completion. Hold on.”

Andy turned toward her. “Don’t bother.” His gaze followed the vehicles driving off. He faced her in slow motion. “The ever-efficient Jackie will send a bill. I promise. See you later.”

With a lopsided grin and another salute, Andy made his last exit. 

Tara closed the door, but held on to the doorknob. No plausible excuse to stop Andy from leaving hit her mind. Slumped against the door, she considered the options. The truck pulled away while she reasoned with herself. 

She walked onto the sunporch and sat in her favorite chair. In the back yard, a cardinal perched on the birdbath and dipped a wing into the water. Watching it brought back memories. Observing birds frolic had been her mother’s favorite pastime. In the early morning, her mother would discard birdseeds in the feeder for a fresh batch. Then, she would refill the stone basin with fresh water, adding ice cubes in warm weather and an immersion heater in winter. Tara supplied both water and food, but not daily—and no ice cubes or immersion heater. Her goal was solely to save the birds from hunger or thirst. 

She sighed into her hands. Her shoulders slumped.

Andy. I missed the chance to see where a relationship might take us. 

He hadn’t made it clear what he wanted. She could tell Andy wasn’t a shy person due to the way he’d engaged her. But an interested man wouldn’t have given up. Had hitting on her just acted as entertainment while he worked? No. His conversation had remained consistent even after the job was completed.

###

That night, Tara rolled onto her back. A smile was pasted on her lips. 

Andy’s love-filled eyes bored into hers. Love rose within her heart. Their chemistry couldn’t be denied. If love dust existed, it had bound her and Andy. Forever. 

“I love you, Tara. You’re the woman I’ve waited for.” 

His intense expression unchecked her emotions. Battles raged within. Butterflies rippled her stomach. There wasn’t a way to quench the joy inside her heart.

“I’m falling in love with you.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “No. I’ve fallen. I love you, Andy.” 

Her whispery voice sounded breathless. 

“Andy . . .” 

It happened in a snap. The man’s titillating smile vanished.

Tara struggled to sit up in bed. Wide awake, she sighed into the silence. Confusion settled around her. Her hands slid up and down her arms. She stared around the darkened room. 

“It was a dream all along. Life, please, imitate my dreams.” 

A streetlight filtered brightness into the room. Her eyes closed. Maybe complete darkness would revive the vision. She replayed the scene in her mind. Romance thrived. She and Andy shared an intimate table inside a dimly lit café. His expression revealed what his words conveyed. Love seized him, for the first time ever. Neither he nor Tara could speak or break away.

Let it go. It was a dream. Nothing more. 

Eyes open, she brushed hair off her face. Lying to herself wouldn’t work. Dreams sufficed while asleep, but once awake . . . reality must prevail. 

Her mind dissected the real-life man. Andy’s interest had appeared genuine from the moment their gazes met. Even a seasoned actor couldn’t fake his obvious reaction. It marked the first time a man had looked at Tara with open admiration. His appreciation intensified her awareness of him. 

The bonhomie she’d just experienced had been a dream. Throes of love and admiration seeped away. Tara still lived alone inside a three-story house, no longer teeming with familial love. 

A lone star outshone the other stars in the smoke-colored sky. Beautiful twinkling lights mocked the despondency that invaded her soul. 

She flopped to her other side, squirming on the full-size bed. 

Numerous times Tara had ignored her shyness to mingle with men. When reinventing herself failed, she kept to her current friends. This latest failure had wasted three personal days from work; it was time off she might need at a later date. 

I should’ve hogtied Andy to the porch.

Tara buried her face underneath the covers. Familiar teardrops seeped through closed eyelids. Her mind resisted further Andy notions.

###

On Friday, Tara and a co-worker exited their office building, grumbling about the weather. Rain had Tara wishing for an umbrella. Their complaint fest continued until Shelli stopped beside her husband’s car. 

“Hello,” she said to the man who opened the car door for his wife. 

“We’re in for a storm.” He went back to the driver’s side of the car.

As Shelli waved, hair raised on Tara’s neck. She eyed a stranger in the back seat of Shelli’s car, but the tinted windows obscured her view. Her body trembled the way it had around Andy. Was it wishful thinking? She wasn’t sure, but she stood with her eyes focused on the shadow. 

Raindrops increased in volume and intensity. Tara stood without an umbrella in a downpour. Water streamed over her body and pooled at her feet. Her toes squeaked inside her sandals. Soaked clothing itched her skin. Drenched, she watched the vehicle round the corner. Only a thunderclap pushed her into action. 

While other people waited at the corner for the walk signal, she sprinted across the street in a dash to her car. 

Tara didn’t stop until she reached her vehicle. Her keys fell into a puddle at the door, and after retrieving them, she slipped inside. Water dripped onto the cloth seat and muddied the floor mat.

“Ugh!”

Her palm whacked the steering wheel.

What gives with me? I got soaked watching a bogus Andy.

###

Luke Cassidy stared at Tara’s soaked body as Rick’s car pulled away. What was on her mind? That dramatic reaction validated his pursuit. Did she suspect he was inside the car? He was fascinated by her expression. Luke considered the implications of whatever she’d been thinking. 

His friend’s wife, Shelli, had come to mind on his second day at Tara’s house. Tara had said she worked at the same multistate payment center for utility companies. Customer service, he thought. Could Shelli become a facilitator and permanent link to Tara? He hoped they were friendly or at least knew one another. A channel to Tara was essential now that her roofing job was completed. 

Shelli’s unrepairable car benefitted him. Rick worked the afternoon shift and escorted her home on his lunch break each evening. Luke asked to tag along on this trip in hopes of convincing Shelli to set him up on a date with Tara. In case he saw Tara while they waited, he hunkered in the back seat to escape recognition. 

Plans had fallen into place with one master stroke. Only God could have the women walk out of the building together the day he was in Rick’s car. Discipline restrained Luke from speaking to Tara as she had peered into the back seat. Her perplexed expression had intrigued him. She’d worn that same look whenever he approached her. 

Tara appeared bereft. Luke watched her until the car turned the corner.

Two days ago, he’d completed a life-changing roof job. When he’d driven to the residence to bid the work, he’d developed a crush on the house. It struck his fancy. He coveted the vintage three-story building. Every feature appealed to him. Wrought iron framed the porch, and gargoyles were etched into the bricks. 

The house needed only a minor overhaul. He was the man for the task if he was able to buy the place. Luke enjoyed restoring old houses. Especially one he hoped to make his own. As he’d climbed the steps, he was assessing the fair market value. 

Then Tara had opened the door. 

Luke had fallen in love on sight. 

Entrapped by her guileless smile, he’d eyed her ringless finger. 

Something about her says she’s single.

Luke was hooked. There was no turning back.

His attention now shifted to Shelli, who was talking nonstop to her husband. 

Goodness, woman, take a break. I have important questions.

He bided his time until the conversation stalled. 

Luke spoke up quickly. “Who was that lady you were walking with?” 

“Tara. We work in the same office. I was asking how she’s getting along. She’s gone through hard times lately.”

Hmm . . . Shelli enjoyed gossiping. What else does she know?

Luke tried to extract helpful information. He managed to learn that Tara’s mother had died last month and her father had passed away the previous month. Personal details were scant, but Tara’s tremendous loss affected him. He understood her reluctance to encourage a new relationship. No wonder indecision warred with obvious warmth.

She’s reeling from the loss. 

Shelli peered around the car seat. “Are you listening?” 

“Thinking about your co-worker,” he answered. “I understand the tremendous loss of losing both parents. Does she have family support?”

“I heard that only her parents’ friends were at their funeral. She’s an only child whose parents were only children. Both sets of grandparents had passed away.”

Ten years ago, Luke’s parents’ death had altered his life. Their departure left him with a family to raise and support. Despite the newfound responsibilities, that same family had made life worth living.

 Where were her friends? Tara can’t be all alone. Personable people had relationships. Did Tara? What is her mindset? Is she happy? 

Luke thought so. She was reserved and a bit withdrawn, but her behavior didn’t signal depression. 

He eyed Shelli. “Do you like her?”  

“I don’t dislike her. Sometimes we eat lunch together. She’s blunt, but nice about it. Just don’t ask her opinion unless you want to hear the truth.” 

“Pretty candid, huh?”

“She’s standoffish, but only at work. I once saw her eating dinner at a restaurant with a family. While she’s reserved on the job, Tara laughed and teased with the kids nonstop. Tara was the life of the party. It seems she has several close friends.” 

“And . . . what else?” 

She turned around, facing the windshield. “She’s nice to people even if she doesn’t really like them. She’s like that with my sister, Olivia.”

Few people liked Olivia. Shelli could be annoying, but she wasn’t as vexing as her sister. Loose-lipped herself, Shelli normally told the truth. Olivia seldom did. 

“Tara’s lack of family interests me. No grief compares to losing loved ones. Perhaps I can help her through the grief. Will you set up a date between us soon?”

Luke scowled when her head shook. 

“No, for two reasons. We don’t talk about our life outside of work; Tara likes it that way. And, she’s not your type.” Shelli swiveled in her seat to face him. “Hey, come to the baseball game with us Sunday. My brother’s team is playing the Bobcats. We’ll have a tailgate party in the parking lot before the game.”

Maybe going will give me another crack at Shelli. 

While acquiring further information or lining up a potential date was a long shot, Luke accepted the invitation.

“I’ll call Pete and Molli,” Luke said. “Her father was recently released from the hospital. She spends much of her time at her parents’ house. An evening watching a ballgame might take her mind off his sickness.” 

###

On the afternoon spent at a local baseball field, Luke’s best friend, Pete, and Pete’s wife, Molli, provided a buffer against Olivia’s constant play for Luke. The bothersome woman plopped onto Luke’s lap as soon as he sat down. His reflexes automatically kicked in. Luke lifted her off his lap to a spot on the bench, as far away as his arms could reach. 

Stop acting brain-dead. A romance between us won’t happen. “Stay there. No game playing today.” 

The gruff voice that came out of him was ominous enough to frighten even himself.  

Everyone laughed except Olivia and Shelli. The foolish woman grinned and scooted closer.

Maybe I wasn’t harsh enough. How about this? “Down, girl. We’ve been a no-go since we met.” 

Molli left her seat on the far side of Pete. She crossed directly in front of Luke and sat beside him. Her action boxed Luke in between herself and her husband. 

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Protecting Luke, or making a play yourself?” 

Molli grinned. “You can’t be bold and stupid. Choose one or the other.”

That remark successfully blocked Olivia’s antics. Still, she simpered at Luke throughout the evening. 

At the end of the seventh inning, Luke’s ears perked when Olivia told Molli about Tara’s parents’ deaths. It was a clumsy attempt to reassure Molli about her father’s sickness. Luke’s antennae rose. It should be simple to ask Tara out himself, but she clammed up whenever Luke made the conversation personal. Shelli had declined to hook him up with Tara. Olivia might, too, if she realized he and Tara had previously met. Olivia wanted him for herself.

Luke strategized the path forward during the game. Even though her sister had refused to set him up on a date with Tara, Olivia would do it if only to have a pipeline to Luke. She would see it as a favor she could cash in. She was his last option to reach Tara indirectly. Once the game ended, Luke offered her a ride home so they could talk.

“The woman you and Shelli mentioned. Tara Simpkins. It must be hard to live without family. Tomorrow, will you set me up on a date with her?” 

Olivia glanced at Luke but didn’t speak. She slid inside the car and shut the door. 

Luke maneuvered the vehicle across the parking lot while he waited on her response.  

“Why suggest a date with a woman you haven’t met?” She twisted in her seat and stared at him. 

“She needs a friend. I’ve lived through a similar loss. I caught a glimpse of her Friday when Rick picked up Shelli while it was raining.”  

Olivia jerked her head toward Luke. “Tara isn’t your type. Besides, she doesn’t date.”

“Is that an assumption or fact?” he asked.

“I don’t think she’s ever dated.” Her sneer imitated a grin. “And I’m not your water girl. Get someone else.” Her lips clamped together.

Luke observed her inner debate. 

 Contempt suddenly marked her curled lip. “Okay, I’ll do it. I can’t wait until you see her in person. A glimpse of her through a window during a downpour doesn’t count. We’ll critique the big date over dinner.”

Luke chuckled. “No. We won’t. You can refuse to ask, if you like.”

“I said I’ll do it. So I will.”

The spiteful grin exposed Olivia’s self-absorption. Her words welcomed a comparison between herself and Tara. That would be balloon-deflating time.

Luke pulled in front of Olivia’s apartment building. Mindful of good manners, he walked her to the door. 

“Here’s a tip,” he said. “Enjoy the chase. The mystique ends once you give in to the moment.” 

Now let her figure that one out. 

After dropping off Olivia, Tara consumed his thoughts on the drive home. All roads led to her. She was the most gracious woman Luke had ever met. 

Good thing he was free to do as he pleased these days. Familial responsibilities were behind him. His sister, Steffi, had tied the knot three months ago. She’d been the last sibling to leave the homestead. Luke’s family trials were over. 

His parents’ vision of seeing their children happily settled into adult life wasn’t snuffed out with their lives. Luke had placed his life on hold, relinquishing dreams of becoming a doctor. Four days after they celebrated his medical school acceptance, the Cassidy family had planned a double funeral. That morning, a propane truck had exploded on the highway. The accident claimed their parents’ lives. 

The driver of the propane truck, newly married, had traveled with his wife. A rider in the cab might’ve caused a distraction, lessening the driver’s ability to react in emergencies. Due to that factor and others, their attorney had argued “contract breach,” and the settlement was substantial. Monetary compensation failed to eradicate the pain of losing their parents. Nothing can replace loved ones. 

Luke had borne the news stoically that day. He then explored his options and took over the family’s roofing business. He’d worked in all phases of the job since his youth. He and his three brothers knew the roofing process inside and out. The family drifted into a workable solution.

Their grandparents’ and aunt’s input provided a stabilizing force. Now his brothers had spouses and children of their own. Only Steffi remained childless. 

Enormous responsibilities had hammered him for ten years. His siblings’ needs no longer topped his own. Luke would follow his destiny wherever it led. 

His number two thought gained traction. It was time to lease his suburban home; urban living beckoned. He welcomed new opportunities. And his future wife occupied his dream house. 

About the Author:

 


E.C. Jackson began her writing career with the full-length play Pajama Party. Thirty-one years later, she adapted the play into Pajama Party: The Story, a companion book to the second book in the five-book standalone Hope series.

Jackson’s favorite pastime is reading fiction. She enjoys taking the journey along with the characters in the books. That also led to her unorthodox approach to story writing. Her vision for each book she writes is to immerse readers into the storyline so they become connected with each character.  

“The Write Way: A Real Slice of Life” is the slogan on her Facebook author page. She feels that if every person reading her books feels connected to the characters, her job is done.

Author Links  

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads