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LARRY Do you mind lifting your foot? LANA Then, where is my paper? LARRY That's something you have to take up with the Times. Lana picks up the paper. LANA This is my paper. LARRY Okay, I'll make a deal with you. You give me the paper today, and you can have it tomorrow. LANA I need it today. I have to read my horoscope. LARRY You can read it tomorrow. LANA But tomorrow is tomorrow. I need it today. I can tell something special is going to happen to me today. 
Buy Now @ Amazon Genre – Comedy Rating – PG-13 More details about the author Connect with London Tracy on Twitter Website http://londontracy.wordpress.com
Fortuitous Bumps 3 Melody checked her watch and then she did a sharp double-take. How had four hours slipped past so quickly? She couldn’t believe how fast she and Kevin had broken the ice. They connected at once and talked, really talked, about everything: classes, parents, friends, dreams, and fears. She felt a twinge of anxiety at the thought of their easy, refreshing evening coming to an end. However, with the lateness of the hour she knew Imani would be worried. “Oh my God, I need to get home before my roommate summons a search party.” Kevin glanced at his watch. “It’s 2:20? Wow, I can’t believe you seduced me like that!” “Yeah, right, you were definitely the one seducing me, making me lose track of time.” She placed one hand over her chest and held the other by her head pretending to faint. With her best Southern drawl she pronounced, “I was totally enraptured by your charm and captivated by your charisma, kind Sir.” “Oh brother!” Kevin laughed. “Could you have been any further over the top?” He stood, assisted Melody with her shoes and coat, threw on his jacket, and grabbed his books. “Well, seeing as I’m such a gentleman, I have no choice but to walk you home, Little Lady.” “Thank you, fine Sir.” Melody accepted Kevin’s hand and he helped her downstairs. They strolled out of the Union arm in arm into the cool, crisp night. Neither talked, but instead smiled at each other from time to time. The bright moon guided their steps along the path and Melody swore the stars winked down on them. They arrived at her dorm room far too soon. Reluctantly she released Kevin’s arm to wish him a good night. Before she could say a word, he swooped in close. Their noses almost touched and she could feel his breath tickle the fine little hairs above her lip. He leaned down so their foreheads touched and he placed a protective arm around her shoulders. “I know I’m being too forward, but I’ve told you more about myself tonight, than any ten friends know combined. You sparked something in me when you knocked me down. And I would be a little annoyed if you didn’t share these intense feelings—the ones consuming me now.” Transfixed, Melody stood motionless at a loss for words. Never before had she kissed a guy she just met, but she felt it inevitable. Her heart leapt in her chest and the anticipation killed. Kevin took her silence as acquiescence and teased her anxious lips with his soft kisses. She couldn’t believe how magical the moment felt. Her tongue willingly probed and parted his lips and then did a hesitant, searching dance with his minty tongue. Her heart couldn’t stand much more and she pushed back, shocked that her lips were reluctant to follow. She glanced at Kevin for a fleeting moment and rushed inside, closing the door behind her, not slowing until she had raced up the two flights to her room. Only then, did she trust herself enough to stop. Kevin probably thought she was a fool for running off leaving him standing there. But sudden urges had overtaken her when they kissed and she wasn’t sure she could have stopped herself if she hadn’t left then and there. What on earth was wrong with her? This felt wonderful yet scary. A guy had never affected her like this. Deep inside, she couldn’t wait for more. “Oh my, God, you’re such a harlot,” she mumbled to herself. Taking a deep breath she unlocked the door and prayed Imani was asleep. 
True friendship endures all obstacles…right? Three college friends search for true love, NFL fame, and a successful engineering career. Will one friend’s quest for happiness endanger all three of their lives? Naïve, romantic Melody Wilkins aims to find true love at college just like her parents. But will she sacrifice her soul to obtain it? No-nonsense Imani Jordan strives for good grades and a chemical engineering degree. When a friendship offers more, will she follow her head or her heart? Lance Dunn is only serious about two things: football and protecting his girls, Melody and Imani. When a threat enters their lives and tests their friendship, can he stop it before it kills them? After the torrents of jealousy, sex, and abuse subside, will their friendship survive…The Colors of Friendship? Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – New Adult, Contemporary Rating – R More details about the author
Connect with K R Raye on Facebook and Twitter Website http://krraye.com/events.html
Quality Reads UK Book Club Disclosure: Author interview / guest post has been submitted by the author and previously used on other sites.
* * * *
In addition to my father’s funeral, my mother and I had to meet with
his lawyer, Mister Urban, to discuss his will. We sat in his office as
he proceeded to explain the terms. My mother and I didn’t speak during
the reading of the will. It reminded us of my father’s death and put us
in somber moods. She wore dark sunglasses indoors and sat stoically in
the armchair next to me. With her sable hair pulled into a tight bun and
her serious expression, she made it obvious she was all business.
When Mister Urban informed her my father left her nothing because of
everything she acquired during their divorce, she sucked her teeth and
sighed in irritation.
I, on the other hand, was stunned when he said, “Paige, he left you his cabin in Black River, Colorado.”
Suddenly, I had a flashback of the cozy cabin my father bought when I
was ten years old. The vacation we had reached the front of my mind,
and once again, a particular memory stood out among the rest. I wondered
if there were still wolves in the area and if the white wolf pup had
grown up.
“Miss Donovan?”
Mister Urban’s round face slowly came into focus. I blinked once. “Excuse me, what did you say?”
He looked down at the will. “The cabin in—”
“The cabin?” My mother repeated.
“Yes. It says here explicitly that Paige inherits the cabin in Black River, Colorado.”
My mother laughed haughtily. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware he still owned it.”
“He told us he sold it,” I added quietly.
She cursed my father under her breath. Mister Urban adjusted his
black-rimmed glasses. He looked confused and scratched his balding head.
Then, he looked at the will and shuffled through the papers.
“No, it’s listed here as a property asset.”
My mother and I shared a look of perplexity. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
She answered immediately. “Sell it. It’s probably in bad shape, and
animals live in it. The upkeep will be expensive. Not to mention, you
never liked it there.”
I shook my head. “No, you didn’t like it there. I loved it, remember?”
She turned her head away from me. “No, not that I can recall,” she
said in a clipped voice. “I remember you ran away, and we searched for
hours trying to find you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe, Dad kept it up or rented it to another family.”
She scoffed. “I doubt it. Your father was a workaholic. I’d be
surprised if he took the time to travel to Colorado for a vacation.” My
mother…always a cynic.
“He could’ve used it as his own vacation spot away from…” I wanted to
say “you”, but I cut my sentence short when she removed her sunglasses.
She gave me a hard look and pursed her lips. I immediately closed my
mouth and turned to Mister Urban. I didn’t know what I was going to do
with the cabin, but selling it was on the bottom of my list.
My mother still tried to convince me to sell my inheritance during
our cab ride to her brownstone home in Brooklyn. “You could use the
money. Just sell the cabin. You don’t want the responsibility of owning
property in a remote place.”
“I don’t think Dad would’ve wanted me to sell it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, he lied to us about selling it, so it obviously meant something to him.”
She sighed. “Paige…”
“I want to keep it,” I said with finality.
She turned her head when I saw her pinched expression. “I want to
keep the cabin, so I can keep the memories of Dad and our vacation
alive.”
When I was growing up, we didn’t do too many activities as a family. I
attributed this to the fact that my parents didn’t get along. Our
vacation in the Colorado Rockies only lasted one summer, but I still
cherished it.
She said, “We have pictures, so we’re already keeping the memory of him and that God-forsaken place alive.”
My mother was a Columbia University graduate with a Master’s degree.
Despite her intelligence, she was clueless when it came to
sentimentalism.
In the end, she was unsuccessful in dissuading my decision. I felt
anxious to return to Black River, and I was curious to see what had
become of the cabin. Did my father let it fall into ruin, or did he rent
it to another family? I hoped he had kept it the way I remembered.
* * * *
Genre – Paranormal Romance
Rating – Adult
The kids came home and doted on Heather. They each signed her cast. Henry looked at it quizzically. “Mom, who’s Peter, and why is his phone number on your cast?” asked Henry. “Oh, he’s the guy whose car I fell in front of. He helped me and took me to the doctor. He probably put his number there in case I fell again before you guys got home.” “Weird,” said Hayes in his twelve-year-old, almost ready to change voice. “You fell into the street? Did anybody else see you?” “No, I don’t think anyone else saw me, but I’m not 100% sure. Thanks for your concern though.” Heather’s mom brought dinner - a roast chicken just like she thought - and stayed and got everything cleaned up before she left again. At least the kids were old enough to shower and get ready for bed on their own. They got their stuff ready for school, watched a movie together and helped Heather up to bed. Heather decided not to go out to the bus stop the next morning. Instead, she kissed all the kids from the comfort of her family room and sat in her favorite chair, foot propped up on the ottoman, laptop on her lap and both phones next to her. Heather heard the loud brakes of the bus and knew Henry and Gracie were off to school. Less than three minutes later, her phone started buzzing. 9:01 Jenny: OMG! U broke ur ankle! Y didn’t u call me? What can I do to help? 9:02 Nicole: U POOR THING! I’ll leave dinner on your doorstep. 9:02 Victoria: I’ll drive the boys to baseball and I will have Ken leave his meeting with the Lieutenant Governor to pick them up as I have an appt. 9:03 Victoria: I’ve hired a babysitter to pick the boys up. Ken can’t leave his meeting with the Lieutenant Governor. But I will make your kids lunches for tomorrow and I will use all organic sulfate free meat. Do they eat crust? 9:04 Jenny: I’m coming over there if you don’t text me back RIGHT NOW. Heather put her phone down and took a deep breath. In and out. That’s what the therapist had told her after Hank died. Just remember to breathe. And she replied to the texts. 9:10 Heather: Thanks, Jenny. I don’t know what I need yet. I think I am ok for today. I should be able to start driving in a few days. 9:11 Heather: Thanks, Nicole, but dinner is not necessary. I will be able to fix something. 9:12 Heather: Thanks, Victoria. I cannot drive to baseball today but maybe we could ask someone else to bring the boys home instead of you having to hire a babysitter. As if it were a race, all three responses came in at the same time. 9:13 Jenny: Forget about all your driving worries. I’ve got it covered. I’ll be over in an hour to see how I can help around the house. 9:13 Nicole: I insist. Dinner will be on the doorstep at 4:30. All you have to do is preheat the oven to 350 degrees. 9:13 Victoria: Babysitter is done. Ken will be able to drive when he isn’t meeting with the Lieutenant Governor. We will handle baseball for the near future. Heather was sure glad Victoria mentioned Ken was meeting with the Lieutenant Governor. What would she have done without that knowledge? she thought. She was sincerely glad Jenny was coming over. Heather couldn’t ignore the fact she did need help now. And Jenny was the one person she was ok with seeing her messy closet and sorting her underwear. Her plan was to waste the next hour on Facebook. Another acquaintance posted she was Saying a prayer for the widow in the neighborhood who had fallen into more bad luck. Since she was the only widow quite possibly in the whole zip code, Heather knew the post was all about her. The fact that half a dozen people had already liked the status really irked her. Did they like the fact that Heather had fallen or that this ‘friend’ was saying a prayer for her? She closed her laptop. Nothing good ever came of a widow on Facebook. Jenny arrived and let herself in. She plopped down on the couch next to Heather’s chair. “What in the hell happened to you?” Heather started to recount the whole story. When she got to the part about Peter taking her to Ortho On Call, Jenny stopped her. “Number 1 - you can always call me. I will always be your emergency contact any day, you know that. Number 2 - You let a strange man with a bunch of arm tattoos pick you up off the street and take you to the doctor?? What in the hell were you thinking?” “That’s funny. I never thought about being scared. I guess I didn’t think much at all. I had a bag of dog crap in my hand, and I cried like twenty times. Well, maybe only twice, but it probably felt like twenty to him.” “Well, you’re lucky it turned out ok.” “Not sure if I should tell you that after he brought me home, he went out to buy my lunch and came back here and ate it with me.” “WHAT!!!?!” Heather was Jenny’s closest friend, but sometimes things felt strained because Heather felt like a burden. Jenny never thought Heather was a burden, but in the last year and a half Heather had made a habit of shutting down at different times. She was lucky Jenny continued to put up with her and pushed through the walls she continued to put up. “I know. I must have been such a pathetic basket case that he was compelled to do a year’s worth of good deeds and take care of me.” Jenny rolled her eyes at the pathetic basket case comment. Heather was beautiful and had a perfect body. The only problem was Heather couldn’t see it. But that was all part of her charm. “Tell me how this date ended.” “Holy Cow! It wasn’t a date!” The thought scared Heather. She hadn’t dated since Hank died. The kids kept her busy enough. It wasn’t even until last month that she went out with a bunch of single moms. “You can’t call it a date when you fall in front of some guy’s car, and he just tries not to run you over. And then it turns out you broke your ankle, and he takes you to the doctor. He feels so bad for you that he gets you some food so he doesn’t have to clean your puke when you take your pain meds on an empty stomach!” “Ok. It wasn’t a date. Are you going to see him again?” “I doubt it. He left his number on my cast. Clear sympathy move.” “If he didn’t want to see you again, why would he leave his number?” “Doesn’t matter. I’m not calling it. Although, I should probably apologize, and thank him. Wish he would have left his email instead.” “You’re the most resourceful girl I know. I’m sure you can find it. What can I do for you around here?” “I hate to ask, but would you throw in a load of the laundry for me? Hayes’ baseball stuff is in there, and he needs it for practice tonight.” “No prob. What else?” “Nothing. I can hobble around. Not going to let my ass get any bigger by sitting in the chair all day.” “K. I am going to the store in a bit, so I’ll pick some stuff up for you.” “Nicole’s leaving dinner on the doorstep for us.” “Nothing like a drop and run casserole.” With that, Jenny did the laundry, hugged Heather and went home. 
Buy Now @ Amazon Genre – Contemporary Romance Rating – PG13 More details about the author & the book Connect with Julie Farley on Facebook & Twitter Website http://www.juliefarley.com/
Chapter Two At first, the monster appeared to be just a normal man walking toward me. I didn’t recognize him, but like I said earlier, Sunnyvale was a nice, quiet town, so there was no reason for me to be suspicious. I was just running by him, enjoying my newfound speed, when this guy stuck his foot out and tripped me. I tumbled headfirst toward the cement. I was going down hard and I knew that hitting that sidewalk was going to hurt. Bad. But then the weirdest thing happened. Without thinking, I twisted my body in midair, reached out and found the ground with my hands, spring-boarded off the cement and landed back on my feet, staring at the stranger who had tripped me. I mean, it was like I had turned into an Olympic gymnast or something. The stranger looked at me curiously, only mildly impressed by my tumbling skills. I wanted to demand why he had tripped me, but one good look at him and I somehow knew better than to say anything. I felt a chill pass through my body and my skin dimpled over in goose-bumps. I felt a little dizzy and I had to fight down a sudden impulse to turn and run. Whoever this guy was, every fiber in my body was telling me that he was bad news. I should have listened to my instinct and just gotten out of there, but I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him. The stranger was pale white, with long, colorless, almost transparent hair down to his shoulders. His face was angular, with high cheekbones and a squared chin. I thought he might be an albino, because his eyes were a blue so pale that they seemed colorless. He wore an old-fashioned duster jacket that hung down to his knees and covered black trousers and heeled, leather boots. The outfit made him look like he had stepped out of a different time. And then there were his hands. They were too long for his body and each finger was capped with a long black fingernail. He raised one of his weird hands in my direction and pointed one of those long black fingernails at me. “Good,” the stranger hissed, “your change has begun. It will make things more fun when we find you tomorrow.” Then the stranger smiled and that’s when I saw them. Long, pointed canine teeth, just like the vampires have in the movies. I couldn’t believe it, but not for the reason you’re thinking. At this point, I had no reason to believe that I was looking at a real-life vampire, so I assumed the teeth were fakes…and that the guy was a total freak. It’s one thing to see people walking around town as vampires on Halloween. But when they did that in the month of September, it was just plain creepy. No wonder I had goose-bumps. I decided that I had seen enough of Mr. Weirdo. I backed up slowly, then turned and got the heck out of there. I heard the man laugh softly as I ran away, but I didn’t stop to look back; I just ran as hard as I could to school and got myself to class. The school day passed even slower than usual. I tried to focus but all I could think about were my new abilities. On top of that, Mr. Weirdo’s comment kept rumbling around in my head. The more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me that somehow the stranger had known about what was happening to my body. Your change has begun. But how could he have known? What was my change? And if it had only just begun, what was going to happen next? Just how much was I going to change? More importantly, since he got the part about my change right, I started to worry that there was truth to his other comment: It will make things more fun when we find you tomorrow. I had no idea what that meant, but it certainly didn’t sound good. I decided to keep all this to myself until I could figure out what was really going on. It was pretty easy to keep it a secret for the first half of the day, but then lunchtime came around. Usually, I sit with the same two guys at lunch. Will Akers and T-Rex Boyle. In the hierarchy of middle school popularity, I’d say my crew fell right in the middle. OK, maybe a little below the middle. We weren’t the super cool kids that everyone immediately identified as school royalty, but we weren’t part of the geek squad either. Well, maybe T-Rex was, but we liked him anyway. He lived with his ancient grandma who insisted on making his clothes for him. Her eyesight wasn’t so good and her hands shook, so the outfits he wore sometimes looked like a berserk machine sewed them. T-Rex was chubby, almost to the point of being completely round. While that alone set him up to get picked on by some of the jerks in school, what really did him in was the way he picked his nose all the time. It was a nervous habit for him, but he did it so much that we all wondered what he was looking for up there. Those two holes were mined so many times an hour that there just couldn’t be any nuggets left to dig out. Still, that didn’t stop him from doing it. One day, Will started calling him ‘T-Rex’. You know how a T-Rex has those itty-bitty arms? Will decided that if only he was a T-Rex, then he wouldn’t be able to reach his nose and all his problems would go away. When his grandma started calling him T-Rex too, we laughed about it for an entire afternoon and the name stuck. T-Rex was still in line when Will and I headed off to our usual table in the corner of the lunchroom. I say usual, but Will was often in detention instead of the lunchroom. He was constantly in trouble because his mouth ran full-time and typically went twice the speed of his brain. You know how sometimes inappropriate things come into your head but a little voice stops you from blurting it out because you know it might be rude? Well, Will didn’t have that little voice. He just let it all out there. My Aunt Sophie said Will had short-man’s disease, a diagnosis that had me worried when I first heard it. I thought she was talking about an actual illness eating away inside of him. But then I Goggled it and got a good laugh at it. All it meant was that short people sometimes over-compensated for their size by being really aggressive. Will was one of the shortest, if not the shortest, kid in our grade. Heck, probably in the grade below us too. But in his mind, he was the tallest guy on campus. And he had big plans for himself. His goals knew no bounds. He didn’t want to make the football team; he wanted to be the MVP. He didn’t want to be a millionaire; he wanted to be a billionaire. And, you know what? Listening to him talk about it, you believed him. Whatever Will lacked in height, he more than made up for in confidence. He was like a miniature pit bull, small but with a big bite. But there was another side to Will that most people, not even the teachers, knew about. He lived at home with his dad since his mom had taken off a few years ago. And there was not a single good thing to say about Will’s dad. He mostly stayed to himself, locked up in their house as it slowly fell into disrepair, the weeds waist high in the front yard, the family car a rusting hulk in the driveway. The only way I knew Will’s dad was still around was that Will would show up for school with a fresh row of bruises up and down his arm. That day was one of those days. Dark, nasty marks covered his upper arm and neck. I nodded to them and Will shrugged and pulled his sleeve down. “The old man’s still pretty quick when he’s angry,” he said. “You should tell someone,” I said. “Same old crap. I can handle it,” he said. “I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know? That’s all I want.” “We’ll go together,” I said. “You pick the college.” “College?” Will laughed. “Are you trying to be a good influence on me or something? Besides, of course I’m going to college. I’m just not sure you’ll be able to get into the ones I’ll get into.” We shared a laugh. We both knew Will’s report cards seemed actually allergic to As and Bs. Oh, he was smart, maybe too smart for his own good. It was just that his intelligence wasn’t the kind that could be measured well with standardized tests. He was street smart though. And he was tough. “Sometimes I wonder if I can wait that long, you know? Sometimes I just want to hitch a ride and just go. Anywhere but here. Anywhere at all.” Will poked at his food, lost to his thoughts. I knew that he could use a distraction. “Want to hear something crazy?” I asked. I described my morning of lifting weights, speed running, dunking basketballs, and meeting total weirdoes. When I was done, I waited as Will thought over everything I had told him. “That was cool,” he said. “Can you tell me a story about a giant and a beanstalk next?” “You don’t get it,” I said. “I’m not making this up. This all actually happened.” “You’re so full of crap,” Will said. “No, I’m telling you the truth,” I said. “It’s kind of freaking me out.” “OK, let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you’re not a huge liar.” “That’s big of you,” I said. 
Buy Now @ Amazon Genre – Middle Grade / YA Fantasy Rating – PG More details about the author & the book Connect with Jeff Gunhus on Facebook & Twitter Website http://www.jacktemplar.com/
Chapter 2 Paige woke from a heavy, dreamless sleep to what could only be a thousand or so birds singing opera at full volume outside her open bedroom window. A mosquito whined near her ear. Pushing herself upright and rubbing her eyes, she was suddenly yanked into high alert by another sound - muffled footsteps downstairs. Someone was milling around below. She could smell coffee brewing. She pulled her canister of mace from the pocket of her cargo shorts and smoothed her rumpled tee shirt, trying to regain her bearings. She clutched the mace tightly. If it was David down there, she would spray him but good. If it wasn’t David, she didn’t really have a plan. Paige crept down the stairs, each step groaning so loudly beneath her bare feet that she wondered why she was bothering to try to be stealthy. She peered into the living room and saw the chair that she had propped under the doorknob the night before was placed neatly against the wall, and the front door was again ajar. A hot breeze wafted in, carrying with it some unidentifiable insects, and she jumped a foot when a voice called to her from the kitchen. “Mornin’, Mrs. Davenport!” A mailman stood in the kitchen doorway, rocking back and forth on his heels. He looked like a bobble-head doll, his head was so large, wobbling about on his narrow stick frame. He was grinning at her, baring a set of oversized teeth that were growing clear out of his mouth. “What - what are you doing here?” Paige managed to rasp, glued to the spot. “I came to make sure you were all settled in! I made coffee…I’m Thomas. I brought your mail,” he added, proudly lurching forward, holding out a grocery store circular. Paige relaxed a little. “Couldn’t you have left it outside in the mailbox?” she asked, snatching it and stalking past him to the kitchen. “You don’t have one,” Thomas replied, cheerfully. “Of course not.” “Okay, see you tomorrow,” he called after her. “When’s Mr. Davenport coming back?” “Good question,” Paige called back, rummaging around for a mug. She heard Thomas traipse out and close the door. What the hell was that about, she thought, filling her cup to the brim with coffee. But she couldn’t imagine what to do next. She wasn’t even sure what day it was – Saturday? They had driven here yesterday, and that was a Friday…She set the coffee cup in the sink and went back to bed. Paige spent the next few days wandering from room to room in a fog. She knew what time it was by the shrill songbirds and the sound of Thomas coming in and out, and then by the orange glow of sunset through the windows, followed by darkness. Once in a while she would look at her cell phone to see that no one had called, and to glance at the actual time, though it meant little to her. Thomas walking in and out without knocking in the mornings grated on her already shredded nerves, but she didn’t feel up to a discussion with him about it. The first time he called to her, and she hid out in her room, so he made the coffee and left. After that she just heard him come in, walk around, and leave again. At times her insides twisted in knots and she would break out in a sweat, and then move to a state of numbness again, and then she would sleep, deep and dreamless, or fitful and splintered by waking several times long after dark, and then she was up and prowling again. There was no purpose to her life, nothing to do, no one to talk to. Paige Davenport had disappeared, and her silent phone told her no one was looking for her. It was a hollow realization. A few times in her murky mind, flashes of her parents came and left as quickly, little waves, clear water that slides up onto the sand and as quickly slips back into the dark ocean. The house had quickly morphed from dreaded fate to unlikely friend, her only friend. It wrapped its rickety arms around her and hid her from the outside, not asking for anything, just shielding her from the world. Unfortunately, it couldn’t fetch her groceries. In the wee hours of one morning, as she sat cross-legged in bed, hearing the early chatter of a few birds and watching the black turn to gray, she dully contemplated getting a hold of a bottle of sleeping pills and floating away, becoming nothing, not a ripple in an ocean, not a breath of breeze, but absorbed into pure, silent blackness. No one would miss her. Thomas the mailman would be the only one to even discover her, and that was only because he let himself into her house daily. But she didn’t really care enough to bother. She noticed that she was picking at the last of a box of cereal. She was wrapped in a bed sheet that covered her matted hair like a babushka, and she pushed it to the side a bit to eyeball the empty peanut butter jar on the night stand. She grimly realized that she would have to go out for supplies. She stood and gathered the edges of the sheet up and around her to keep from tripping, and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen. Paige gazed at the growing stack of mail on the Ugly Table, a stack that Thomas added to each morning, and saw that there were a few bills, already. She could smell herself. There was no help for it. It was time to take a hot shower, put on clean clothes, and venture into the town for vodka. While there she would find the bank and see how little money she actually had. If the town had a grocery store, she would buy some food. After showering and shampooing for the first time in days, she felt raw and bleached. She pulled a short denim skirt and a black tank top out of her open suitcase and put them on. The skirt was already too loose in the waist and slipped down, catching on her hipbones. She pushed her bare feet into a pair of sandals, brushed out her damp hair, and clomped down the stairs and out the front door. The sun glared at her as if she was a naughty child who had just been let out of the corner. Young lady, I hope you have learned your lesson. But what did I do? she silently asked, squinting up at it. Never mind, don’t answer that. She pulled her sunglasses from her purse and put them on, looking up and down the street at the end of her driveway. She remembered which direction David had gone when he left, so she started walking that way, hoping it would lead her into town. After a five minute walk, Paige found herself at the gas station at the end of the town’s main road, again. She stared down the main street. It was lined by trees that were tall and dark, the branches growing every which way. They seemed like cantankerous old men with wild hair, standing watch. She tried to will herself to walk the length of the street, under each of the town's two hanging traffic lights, to see where the street and presumably the town ended, but all she could see was a small park backed up against a wall of thick woods. Paige became vaguely aware of a woman standing beside her. She turned slowly to face her. "What are you looking for, sweetheart?" The woman asked. She appeared to be around forty, and was wearing a white skirt and white cowboy boots. A fitted top showed off her upper assets, but Paige’s eyes were drawn quickly to the woman’s hair, and then she could not rip away her gaze, as the hair had been dyed a vivid red that made her resemble a rooster, with all layers of feathers, the top fluffed up like a mighty comb. “Hellooo,” the rooster said, waving her fingers in front of Paige’s face. She looked at her kindly. “Can I help you find something, Mrs. Davenport?” She spoke slowly, soothingly, as if she thought Paige might be about to flee if startled. She would be right about that. “How did you know that was my name?” Paige asked, looking down from the hair into round blue eyes. The rooster looked her up and down. “Please,” she laughed. “How do you think?” The two women regarded each other for a moment. Then Paige held out her hand. “Paige Scott,” she said. “Please just call me Paige.” “I understand all about these things,” Rooster said with a knowing wink. “We’ll talk.” Oh no, we won’t, Paige thought. She quickly changed the subject. “Can you tell me if there is a grocery store around here, Ms…” “Deirdre,” she replied, shaking her hand. “And yes, it’s my store. One block up and on your left, named after my daughter, Carmen.” “Carmen. Got it.” Paige nodded. “Well.” She turned and walked quickly toward where Deirdre had pointed. 
Buy Now @ Amazon & Amazon UK For a limited time only, $2.99 Genre - Contemporary Fiction Rating – PG13 More details about the author & the book Connect with Gaelen VanDenbergh on Facebook & Twitter Website http://gaelenvandenbergh.com/home/
Tainted Waters by Maggie Thom (Excerpt) “Oh, Jaico.” Drained of energy, the woman sank down onto his naked chest. “Oh, Corrine.” She giggled. He smiled. It was always so easy. If there was one part of his job he enjoyed, it was this. “How’s old Harry treating you these days?” She leaned up on her forearms, her naked breasts brushing his ribs. “He still bellows. That man seems to think I have nothing better to do every day but answer his every beck and call. I’ve made it clear from the beginning that I won’t get him coffee, he can damn well get his own. The other day…” She smiled coyly. He was sure she was remembering their quickie in the ladies’ room at work. “Since I was feeling so nice, I decided to get him a coffee since I was getting one myself. He called me a stupid idiot for bringing him old coffee, he wanted four sugars, not black and he no longer used creamer. He then thrust it at me expecting me to get it for him.” Her finger trailed over his chest. “So I did and I added in blue food coloring. Jackass.” Jaico howled. “Beautiful. Guess you got him back.” She looked a little more confident. “Well I was trying to do something nice. He’s just so nasty. So many people are hoodwinked by him. He’s so slick with the big wigs but treats his employees like crap.” “Hey, you told me he fired someone the other day. How’d that go? I bet you got to do all the dirty work?” “I had to tell her she had a meeting with him, which is never a good sign. He doesn’t meet with anyone. I have to give her credit though, he must have been his usual self, because after she left, he came out with coffee dripping off his face, demanding I get him paper towels. It was so funny.” She giggled. “The timing of your call couldn’t have been better. I didn’t have to stick around and listen to him bellow.” “Wow. What did she do before the coffee thing to get fired?” “Well…. promise you won’t tell?” Jaico reached up, cupped her face and kissed. “Love, you don’t have to worry about me.” “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just I need this job. It pays good. The benefits alone are worth it. Anyway, I guess she was trying to run a story about this man who had stolen his wife’s necklace or something and Harry hadn’t approved it. I guess she did it on her own, without permission.” “Oh, who was the guy?” “Some wealthy dude. It sounds like he was trying to or maybe he got the insurance for it. I don’t know I didn’t get to see the article and I’ve only heard bits and pieces.” “Is that all she wrote?” “Yeah, that and just her usual drivel about some lame things going on around town. Her opinion. Nothing very interesting.” Jaico’s phone rang. He rolled over, grabbed it and glanced at the number. “Back in a sec.” He jumped to his feet. “Okay but hurry.” He looked back at the woman who was displaying all her worldly charms for him. He smiled as he made his way naked across the large hotel room and into the bathroom. He closed the door and turned on the tap. “What?” “I lost her.” 
Buy Now @ Amazon Genre – Suspense Rating – PG13 More details about the book Connect with Maggie Thom on Facebook & Twitter Website http://www.maggiethom.com/
The moon stood a quarter full in the sky as Cheryl pulled up in front of Anthony’s house in her old coupe. She had insisted on driving tonight. “Did you notice how people keep looking at you?” she said. “Like they don’t know whether to cheer for you or run away.” “It’ll pass,” Anthony said. “Egan’s buddies took him to the ER; he’ll be fine.” “Fine? Mary told me he has two black eyes, a broken cheekbone and a concussion. He could have been blinded. You could have been thrown in jail, Anthony.” “Don’t forget, he took the first swing–before I was even out of my car.” “I know, but…now he’s saying you’re dead meat.” “I heard that too. Well, he’ll have to take his shot before I leave for Berkeley in the fall, that’s all I can say.” Silence, heavy and as dark as the night. Cheryl twisted her high school class ring. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was a bad way to bring it up.” Cheryl twisted the ring, twisted it. “It won’t be like forever,” he said. “We’ll write at least once a week and see each other every summer, and after a few years we’ll be together again. It will go by fast, you’ll see.” She muffled a sob and leaned her head on his shoulder, close enough for him to smell the familiar fragrance of her skin. Tight and long he hugged her. They kissed, and he felt her wet eyelashes brush his healing face. “Anthony, please. Don’t go. Please don’t—” “Cheryl. I have to. We’ve talked about it and talked about it, and…I have to go.” “But why? If you really love me, why?” “Because it’s important. For me, for us. For the future.” “You mean our future.” “Of course, our future.” He knew she had to make the decision to leave with her parents tomorrow for Kentucky. The time had come; if he didn’t do it now, he never would. He opened the door and slid out. Disbelief widened Cheryl’s eyes. Through the open window, bathed in the surrealistic glow of overhead street lamps, they kissed–long, tender and lingering–searching and aching for some word or feeling that would make everything all right. Nothing occurred to him. Finally he pulled away, turned and walked off. Behind the backyard fence he stopped and waited, listening for her car to start. Silence. He peered between two slats and saw her sitting with her forehead resting on her hands while she gripped the steering wheel, the streetlight reflecting dully from her class ring. Minutes passed. Her shoulders jerked. He blinked hard and repeated to himself that he’d made the right decision; he had to have made the right decision…. But why? If you really love me, why? At last the engine of Cheryl’s little coupe rattled to life and the car lurched away. Pain knifed into Anthony’s chest. His skin turned cold. Without thinking, he sprang through the gate. “Cheryl!” But as he ran into the street her car with its one functioning taillight was already turning the far corner. He turned and dashed around the block in the opposite direction so he could head her off along the route she always took. In darkness he flew down the sidewalk to the corner, stopped and looked down the block. No jalopy. He didn’t understand it. For the first time Cheryl had not driven her usual route. Looking the other way, up the street, he saw the single taillight of her car glowing red a block away…two blocks…then it blinked out of sight. Anthony walked home, waited several minutes, then dialed Cheryl’s number. Her father answered, sounding annoyed at being awakened. No, Cheryl hadn’t arrived yet, and he didn’t want to be disturbed. * * After a long, sleepless night Anthony called again. His jaw dropped as a taped operator’s voice intoned, “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.” He tried again, pressing the buttons very carefully—and got the same result. He reached her house in ten minutes. No coupe out front; no sign of life. He knocked. No answer. Peering through the front room window he saw an empty living room: no furniture; lifeless; deserted. He drove slowly home, banged into his room, closed and locked the door, pulled the shades, took off his shoes, and crawled back under the covers with his clothes on. Loneliness and doubt pressed down on him, heavier and heavier, until he shook under the pressure. Tears rolled down his face into his mouth, and the saltiness reminded him of the previous night, when he had kissed Cheryl for the last time and tasted her tears…a flavor he knew he would never forget. * * By the end of August he had received only three letters from Cheryl, mailed from the small town in Kentucky where she’d grown up. The first two were long and passionate, the last short and…friendly, at best. Then nothing. She never replied to his last letter. As Anthony packed for the long drive to Berkeley, on impulse he made a long-distance phone call. Stood anxiously waiting while it rang. A familiar middle-aged woman’s voice answered, “Crawford’s.” “Hello, Mrs. Crawford. This is Anthony Darren. How are you folks?” A pause. “Hi, Anthony. Just fine, thanks. We’re all just fine. How’re you doing?” “Oh…okay, I guess. Getting ready to go up north. May I speak to Cheryl?” A longer pause. “She’s gone on a trip, Anthony. Didn’t you know?” “No. I haven’t heard from her in a while.” “Anthony, she’s married. She’s off on a little honeymoon. Thought surely you knew.” He swallowed a thick lump. Then, “Well, tell her congratulations for me. Who did she marry?” “Billy Burns, a boy from these parts. An Army man. I think he’ll be good for her. She’s really been blue since you and her broke up.” “Well, I’m sure he’ll take good care of her. She’s a very special girl. Please tell her I’m… happy for her.” “That’s real nice of you, Anthony. Always thought a lot of you.” 
Buy Now @ Amazon Genre – Legal Drama Rating – PG13 More details about the author Connect with V Frank Asaro on GoodReads & Twitter
For the Future Generations [Book 1 of the "For a Generation" series]
3.4.2113 Alamogordo, New Mexico The sun set over Alamogordo, New Mexico and night fell in the desert. Thick black clouds shifted over the horizon, contrasting the orange sky above, and casting shadows on the barren landscape. In one mound of sand and rock sat an underground house with a tan roof protruding from the top of the hill. The residents had built a door in the side of the roof. This remained locked during daylight hours. Inside this house, the Channing family had just finished their evening meal. The women in the family cleaned the last of the dishes, the father worked in his office, and a ten-year-old boy grew restless. The boy had a head of strawberry curls, a round face, and deep blue eyes. He scampered down the hall and pounded on his father’s office chamber door. His father, Kelvin Channing, a college professor, would be grading the day’s homework or preparing assignments for the next school day. “It’s Declan,” he called. “Yes, Declan?” Kelvin answered through the door. “What do you want?” “Laken, Chaslyn, and I want to go outside.” Declan said. “Is it safe?” “It’s 8:00,” Kelvin said. “I don’t see why not. Remember to wear your coat.” Declan glanced at the clock on his touch screen music device. He and his two sisters had to stay indoors until after dark because his sisters, being conjoined twins, were frowned upon in the eyes of the culture. In Declan’s day, “handicapped” individuals were those who could not contribute financially. They required government assistance and were considered a burden to society. These handicaps could be something as simple as inseparable conjoined twins, or as severe as major cerebral palsy or quadriplegia. Benevolent medical professionals would simply deny them healthcare, while the majority would euthanize them, with or without a caretaker’s permission. At their doctor’s warning seven years before, Kelvin and Ayla Channing had relocated with their three-year-old triplets—Declan, Laken, and Chaslyn—from Kansas City, Missouri to a desert in New Mexico, hoping it would be safer. Several families who were close friends with the Channings had also come to ease the adjustment. They had scheduled their days so the triplets would be able to spend time with their friends at night. Removing his coat from a hook near the front door, Declan slipped into it. His sisters came into the living room after they had finished cleaning the kitchen. They too were becoming restless, and the Alamogordo evening beckoned them. “Did Dad give us permission?” Chaslyn asked. Declan nodded and assisted Laken and Chaslyn into a special joining coat tailored for them, since they joined at one of their forearms. They piled into an elevator that led to the roof. The elevator opened, and Declan unlocked the door. They stepped out onto the sand and raced down the side of the hill to their “fort”, a crude structure constructed of logs stacked so they overlapped each other. As the evening progressed, the children’s friends arrived and joined in the imagination games. Over their playing and laughter, Declan could hear a transporter door slam shut and then footsteps approaching. As they grew louder and came closer, Declan became increasingly concerned. All of their friends were with them, and others rarely visited the deserted area. “Wait here,” he cautioned his sisters. “I’m going to see where that noise is coming from. Guys, keep your guard over them for just a minute.” Fearing the worst, he left them in the fort and stole away to track the source of the footsteps. He scampered a few feet down the path behind their house. He saw a silhouette several feet in front of him, standing in the glow of a transporter’s headlights. As it came closer, he perceived a middle-aged man holding a flat nylon case. “Who are you?” Declan demanded. “Don’t come any closer.” “Declan, I can’t tell you much,” the man replied hurriedly, as if in a rush. “You need to trust me. My name is Mr. Wilcox; I’m a time traveler.” Mr. Wilcox handed Declan the case. He unzipped it and found an electronic notepad. Opening a side compartment, he pulled out an automatically recharging payment card or ARPC for short. Declan searched his face for an explanation, both of the contents and of the fact this stranger knew his name. “Keep this book a secret.” Wilcox instructed. “When the time comes, you’ll know who it’s for.” “What about the ARPC?” He questioned. “Dad opened an account for my sisters and me, but only because he has a job; they’re linked to his. This card’s number isn’t the one on mine.” “It will be in about thirteen years.” Mr. Wilcox said, “Remember, I’m a time traveler.” Declan powered up the book so he could read the content, only to find it blank. He flipped it over in his hands and toyed with it, trying to discern why it would not grant him access. He pressed the bottom of the device. It squawked and a negating red light flashed. “What happened?” He asked the man. “I set the privacy so only the future recipient can open it. Underneath the electronic device is a fingerprint reader. It’s programmed for only my fingerprints and the person who will receive it.” Mr. Wilcox explained. “There’s an unlocked note at the beginning that I addressed to you.” With these words, Mr. Wilcox vanished into the night and Declan focused his attention on the unlocked message. “Declan Channing,” it instructed, “return to the place where you met me at 7 in the morning on May 1st, 2130, when you are twenty-seven. Bring this book with you. On June 30th of 2130, leave the ARPC I gave you—and your FBI badge—at the Indianapolis, Indiana branch of the bank where your account is.” 
In a thirty-first century dictatorship where population control is enforced and knowledge of truth is prohibited, a teenager discovers secrets about America’s past and her own nation’s future. In the first book of the “For a Generation” series, fourteen-year-old Matthia Hefner has discovered the grim truth about abortion and its effects on society. She embarks on a time travel mission to the past with a plan to save a nation destroyed by abortion, as well as to glean knowledge to save her own country. Can she save the nation and its people in time, or will it be forced to suffer the consequences for its actions? Buy Now @ Amazon Genre - Christian YA Fiction Rating – PG More details about the author Connect with Anastasia Faith on Facebook & Twitter
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