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Showing posts with label free read. Show all posts
Showing posts with label free read. Show all posts

Friday, October 3, 2014

Miss Danvers Decides

by Christy Carlyle


(Miss Danvers Decides is a continuation of an earlier free short read, Lord Pennington's Proposal. If you wish, you can read that first part of the story here.)

London, 1867

“Marry me, Bella.”

Lord Jonathan Pennington’s words, spoken in his smooth baritone, echoed in Isabella Danvers’ mind as she stood in the cozy comfort of his study. Though a fire in the grate still gave off a bit of warmth, Bella pulled her shawl up around her shoulders to stifle the shivers that had begun to rattle her body.

Jack’s handsome face was as familiar to Bella as her own, but the words coming out of his mouth were strange as a foreign language. The eagerness in his tone and raw excitement in his gaze set her heart racing, while the three words shattered her composure. For a woman with a secret writing life, relying on words to write stories under a nom de plume, Bella could not rally a single phrase in response to Jack’s unimaginable proposal.

In the tangled jumble of her thoughts, she could only hear an echo of his words. "Marry me, Bella."

Marry Jack Pennington. It was a notion—an impossible dream—she had kept hidden within her heart and mind for more years than she could count. Her secret had been kept so close that even Father had been unaware of the feelings she harbored for the aristocrat who had been her childhood friend. When her father named Jack as her guardian in his will, he had bound them together but given the duty of finding a husband to the only man she had ever mused about marrying.

“Bella?” His tone had lost its exuberance and concern for her etched creases of worry across his forehead, just under the errant lock of black hair that dipped down toward his brow, always refusing to behave. “I’ve shocked you.”

Shocked, yes. That was it. Shock, fear, and a slice of unreasonable hope were among the riot of emotions making her tremble. Though she had suggested marriage to Jack moments before, she never imagined he might take the tease seriously.

The whole idea was ridiculous. Impossible. Jack might be the same man who had encouraged her strident opinions as a girl and derided her love of Gothic novels as a young woman, but he was, above all things, the Earl of Pennington.

He had never wanted the title; he’d made that clear. But she never doubted he would do his duty—to his father and the family name. Marrying the daughter of the Pennington’s longtime butler was out of the question. In fact, it would spark gossip and scandalize the society misses and mothers who would surely consider the Earl of Pennington a prime catch in the coming season.

From the moment he had inherited his father’s titles and estates, Jack had been the soul of propriety. He had always been a clever man, and as a child Bella adored his sense of adventure. But there had been little adventure since he’d assumed his father’s title, and she sympathized for the rounds of inane social visits and dusty estate ledgers with which he spent his time. Jack needed a bit of adventure, truth be told, but this—marriage to a completely unacceptable young woman­­­­­­—was precisely the kind of adventure he did not need.

“I am going to take a turn in the park.”

After finally finding her voice, Bella offered Jack a reassuring grin, but he seemed anything but reassured. When she stood, he shot up too and reached a hand toward her.

“Let me accompany you.”

“No.”

Harsher than she intended, her tone wounded him. She could see it in the flicker of disappointment that shadowed his green eyes.

“I promise I won’t be long.” She smiled up at him again, but turned toward the door, not waiting to see if he returned her expression. Though she spent a portion of nearly every day in his company, looking at the beautiful planes and angles of his face was suddenly painful.

“You heard my question, did you not?”

That tone was familiar and a grin tugged at her mouth at the sound of it. It was Jack’s I-am-six-years-your-senior-and-not-at-all-pleased tone.

“Was it a question? I thought perhaps you were teasing me, in return for my making such an outrageous suggestion.”

Bella still couldn’t look him in the eye, but she turned her head in his direction. They might tease each other, but there had never been a moment of rudeness between them.

He stalked toward her, boot heels clicking on the polished wooden floor. Bella did not move, and she dared not meet his gaze. He came close, just behind her, close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath against her neck.

When he spoke, his voice was low, quiet, and bone-meltingly tender.

“It was a question. Perhaps the most important of my life.”

Bella swayed toward him, and he placed a firm, warm hand on her upper back to steady her. Such sweet pleasure emanated from his touch that she felt the word bubbling up. Yes. The answer she wished she could give him, ached to say again and again.

“You will give me an answer, won’t you, Bella?”

A flutter in her chest blossomed into an ache as she walked away from him, still unable to meet his gaze. She stopped at the door of the study and turned back.

He had honored her with his question and she owed him an answer. But not yet. She could not bring herself to shut out the possibilities just yet. “After my walk, Jack. I promise you an answer after my walk.”

“Then I hope it’s a pleasant walk.”

Hearing the humor in his voice, Bella finally turned to look at him. She relished the moment as the tension between them ebbed. The moment made it easier for her to walk away.

Once she’d wrapped herself in her cloak and faced the chilly October morning, she longed for the comfort of sitting with Jack beside the fireplace. But she couldn’t face Jack without giving him an answer, and before her answer, there was someone she wished to see.

She met no one as she made her way along Brook Street toward Grosvenor Square. Bella knew it was early for visiting hours, but she hoped Emily would make an exception for her.

Bella did not mind the brief wait in the Earl and Countess of Wharton’s drawing room. Emily’s Grosvenor Square townhouse was always filled with hothouse flowers and, perhaps because of its lavender wallpaper, the drawing room was usually dotted with bowls overflowing with violets. Their sweet, vibrant scent reminded Bella of Eastleigh, the Pennington estate in Hampshire where she and Jack had grown up.

“Bella, my dear, I did not expect you today. Have you brought me another?” The countess clasped her hands together like a child eager for her first gift on Christmas morning. “I read the last one in single sitting. I could not put it down. Charles actually scolded me for spending too much time reading.”

Thrilled to hear her story had so enthralled her friend, Bella giggled. “I am afraid I haven’t brought you another story. I’ve come to ask you a question. And to tell you of a question Jack has put to me.”

“How intriguing. It sounds as if tea is in order.”

After ringing for refreshment and settling themselves on the settee, Emily looked at Bella expectantly. Though their stations were as different as Bella’s from Jack, Emily had always treated Bella like a sister, an honorary member of her large, wealthy family. Nothing had changed when she'd married the Earl of Wharton, and Charles and his family had embraced her as readily as Emily had.

“So tell me of Jack's question.”

“First tell me what it’s like to be a countess.”

Emily laughed, a rich, throaty sound that made Bella smile.

“Are you considering becoming one yourself?”

Her question, asked with a smile and laughter lingering in her tone confirmed the foolishness of the very notion to Bella. How could she ever be Jack’s countess?

“Jack has asked me to marry him.”

For a moment Emily didn’t move, her bow-shaped mouth hanging open in a most unladylike manner, but then Bella's words seemed to ignite her. She shot up from her spot on the settee and clasped her hands to her mouth, stared back at Bella wide eyed, and then sat next to her again. When she reached for her hands, Bella noticed tears in Emily’s eyes.

“Darling Bella, what happy news. I am bursting with happiness for you.” She did cry then, tears slipping down her cheeks as she clasped Bella in an embrace.

Bella hugged her friend back, and felt tears well in her own eyes. “I have not given him an answer.”

“What? Why ever not? My dear, you must. You simply must.”

Pulling back, Bella swiped at her cheek. “I cannot marry him, Em. It’s impossible.”

Emily stared at her as if she’d gone mad. “I don’t understand.”

“I am a butler’s daughter. Butlers’ daughters don’t become countesses.”

“Apparently they do. You will. Bella, you and Jack… Well, it has always been clear to me. You’re meant for each other.”

“He does not know about my writing.”

“Then you must tell him.”

“He loathes Mrs. Radcliffe and all Gothic novels.”

Emily shook her head as if Bella spoke nonsense.

“He’s never read one of yours, Bella dear. You’ve never given him the chance.”

“What will people say? I couldn’t bear to bring him shame.”

Bella continued on, voicing her fears and anxiety, her belief that she might tarnish the Pennington name by marrying Jack.

Emily listened patiently, holding her hand through much of the tirade, offering her a reassuring squeeze now and then.

“Are you quite finished?”

Surprised by her friend’s tone, Bella looked up into the young countess’s clear blue eyes. Her face was set in a firm yet benevolent expression.

“Yes, I’m finished.”

“I have only one question for you.”

Bella nodded her head and took a deep breath. No question the countess might ask could be more daunting than Jack’s.

“Do you love him?”

The question was ridiculous, perhaps as ridiculous as Jack’s. Of course she loved him. She had always loved him. Bella could barely recall a day of her life before she loved Jack Pennington.

Though Bella had not said a word, Emily beamed.

“Well, that’s that.” The countess lifted a gold fob watch pinned to one of the many folds of her elaborate skirt. “You mustn’t keep him waiting. He is an earl, after all. If he’s anything like Charles, he will detest waiting.”

“But—“

“Give him the answer of your heart, my dear. Do not allow fears to steal your happiness.”

Emily led Bella to the foyer, helped settle her cloak around her, and kissed her on the cheek before giving her a gentle nudge out the door.

As Bella descended the stairs, her friend called to her.

“Bella?”

She turned back to Emily.

“I think you will be a magnificent Lady Pennington.”


***

He rubbed his hands together as he watched her. It was a gesture that indicated Jack was nervous, worried, and Bella instantly felt a pang of guilt for keeping him waiting so long.

“Come sit by the fire.” He gestured toward her favorite chair and Bella was relieved to sink into it again.

“Your walk. Was it pleasant?”

“It was short. I didn’t go to the park as I’d intended. I went to visit Lady Wharton.”

He edged back, sitting stiffly in his chair, but he rested his hands on the chair's arms. For some reason, hearing of her visit to Emily’s seemed to ease his anxiety.

“Did you indeed?”

“Yes. I suspect I will be visiting her quite often. Perhaps she can give me lessons.”

Jack opened his mouth as if he meant to speak but then closed it again. He eased forward in his chair, leaning toward her.

“Lessons?”

She smiled at him, willing him to read her meaning, eager to banish the anxiousness she could still read in his gaze.

“You see, I know nothing at all about being a countess.”

He ducked his head, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight had lifted.

“Bella, I am a simple man. Tell me simply.”

He was anything but a simple man, and if the moment had not been so full of joyful anticipation she would have told him so. Instead she spoke one simple word as simply as she was able.

“Yes.”

“Yes? Is this the yes?"

Since the word seemed inadequate on its own, she nodded her head before repeating it. “Yes.”

He reached for her hand as he had a hundred times before, with a warm, easy familiarity. But when he pulled her close and pressed his mouth to hers, everything was new. Heart bursting with bliss and relief, Bella knew theirs would be a wonderful adventure.            

Friday, August 22, 2014

Never Trust a Man with Little Ears (A Bellham Romance) - Part Four of Four

“Justin, what are you and your lady friend doing sneaking up on us?” Tanner asked, his voice gravelly now, accusing.
He knows Justin, Mia thought. He’s got to be the cowboy they planned to fix me up with, doesn’t he?
“Just seeing how you two are getting along.” Justin said, tilting his shaggy blond head and shrugging as though he were filled with innocence.
“Ah, I see. This was a set up then, was it?” Tanner arched a brow and glanced from Justin to Skye to Mia.
Mia’s heart fell and the heat spread over her ears and traveled down her neck. Didn’t Skye say Tanner/Hunter/Trapper wanted to meet her, too? Maybe Skye said he was willing to meet her. Mia supposed there could be a big difference between the two.
She was confused again. Was this the right guy? And, if so, had he wanted to meet her? Mia gazed once more at her new boots, dismayed to notice a thin layer of rodeo dust already coated the deep-pink leather.
“He treating you okay?” Justin asked Mia.
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Heated blood jetted back to Mia’s face to fully concentrate on her cheeks. My face must be the color of my boots. Maybe it will pass for heat flush. I hope so. But even with her cheeks flaming, Mia still breathed relief. Justin wouldn’t ask if Tanner was treating me okay, and he wouldn’t check on how we were getting along unless Tanner really is the guy I was supposed to meet, right?
Tanner ran a thumb lazily over the back of Mia’s hand. Tingling goose bumps pebbled up her arm. It felt good, felt right, her hand in his. A slight breeze swirled by, and Mia caught a whiff of Tanner’s spicy-citrus aftershave. The scent combined with the dust and horse sweat in a powerful way.
A powerfully-good way
“You let me know if he doesn’t treat you right, and I’ll take care of him for you,” Justin said, a teasing tone to his voice, but a stern look in his eyes as he scanned Tanner’s face. Justin’s gaze traveled lower to settle on Tanner and Mia’s clasped hands. His eyes brightened. “You two lovebirds want to go to Sticks’ barbeque with us after the rodeo?” 
Mia breathed easier. Yes! Justin would not be inviting Tanner and me to a party unless Tanner was definitely the one he and Skye intended me to meet.
“Come on, Mia,” Skye said, leaning forward in earnestness, her hair, the same shiny brown-black as Mia’s, cascading from under her cowboy hat and falling over one shoulder. “Say yes. You know Sticks throws the best barbeques in Bellham.”
Always go on a first date in a public place. Be sure to take a chaperone.
Yes, Papa Pete.
Tanner aimed those golden-brown eyes at Mia. “I’m game, if you are.” He gave her hand a slight squeeze.
“Sure,” she said, the hand and arm tingles returning in full force. “Sounds fun.”  
Skye beamed a smile at Mia and Tanner, and then turned to plant a noisy kiss full on Justin’s mouth.
Mia glanced away, wishing those two would refrain from such blatant public displays of affection. It was embarrassing. Probably one of the reasons they did it. Skye and Justin knew how easy it was to embarrass her, and seemed to enjoy doing so.
Mia looked down at her hand enveloped in Tanner’s. Going on a double date to the barbeque did sound fun. It wouldn’t be dangerous like going off alone into the boonies on a first date – Skye, Justin, and other friends would be at Sticks’ party, too.
Good, safe fun.
“Why don’t we walk you ladies to your seats?” Justin said.  
“Yep, it’s about time to get ready for our rides,” Tanner said. “The performance starts soon. Want to make sure you get good spots.”
Justin and Skye led the way to the grandstand, their arms slung around each other, their footfalls sending up puffs of dust, like smoke-signal shorthand. The puffs lifted and dissipated at intervals as regular as a beating heart.    
Tanner and Mia followed, still holding hands. Again she caught the citrus-spice, horse-sweat fragrance of him. She closed her eyes and drew it in. Mmmmm. 
Tanner angled his head so his lips were close to Mia’s ear. “I’ll look forward to spending time with you after my ride.” Quietly he said it, so only she could hear.
Her heart sprouted feathers and fluttered inside her chest.
As they strolled past the bucking chutes and roping chutes, past other cowboys and cowgirls, Mia once more inspected the plump earlobes protruding from beneath Tanner’s hat. The big ears and good-guy white hat made her smile. If Papa Pete were still around, this cowboy would definitely meet with his approval.  

~Author Bio~
Danita Cahill is an award-winning freelance writer and photographer. She’s written and published over 2,100 newspaper articles and columns for 11 different Northwest newspapers, and dozens of magazine stories and photo layouts for six different magazines. She has five stories and a photo in two of HCI’s anthologies and has self-published five books – two non-fiction and three fiction titles. Danita lives in the Pacific NW on a small Oregon farm with her family and animals, including a herd of 10 alpacas. Besides running children to and fro and caring for her gardens, critters and family, Danita stays busy working on magazine assignments and her next book projects.
Visit Danita’s author page:
Follow Danita on Twitter: @DanitaCahill

If you’d like to subscribe to Danita Cahill’s newsletter and receive information about book signings, appearances, and new book releases, please send an email to: danita@centurylink.net and put “newsletter” in the subject line. 

Friday, August 15, 2014

Never Trust a Man with Little Ears (A Bellham Romance) - Part Three of Four

“My name’s Tanner. Tanner Michaels.” He swept off his cowboy hat and held it over his heart, as if paying her homage. “What’s yours?”
A gentleman removes his hat when greeting a lady. It shows respect.
Not Hunter or Trapper, but Tanner. Close. Similar. Oh, I do hope this is the right guy.
“Mia Young,” she said, glad to be distracted from the image of him flying off a wild bronc. She was relieved to note his ears – which she could see clearly now with his hat removed – were larger than average. “Nice to meet you.” She smiled shyly and stuck out her hand.
In quick, fluid motions he dropped his hat back on his head, and grasped her hand as though to shake it. But instead of pumping it in greeting he brought the back of it up to his lips.
When meeting for the first time, a gentleman always kisses a lady’s hand.
His lips were moist, warm, and firmly masculine. A tiny, electrical charge started at the spot his lips touched and tingled up to her elbow. She’d seen men kiss women’s hands in the old movies she used to watch with Papa Pete. But she’d never had her hand kissed before. Not like this. It made her feel silly yet mature all at once.
Tanner’s golden-brown eyes met hers straight on, peering steadily at her as his face hovered over her hand.
Trust only a man who looks you square in the eye.  
Mia silently thanked Papa Pete – more father than grandfather. Although he was gone, his “wisdoms” would always live within her and guide her.
Mia met Tanner’s frank gaze before quickly casting her eyes to her rose-colored boots. She’d bought the boots special for rodeo weekend. Special for this precise moment – to give this cowboy a good first impression. (She was still holding onto hope that this was the correct cowboy. And that hope was growing stronger by the minute).
“Nice to meet you, Mia.” The low, rumbling way he said her name – the same way he’d uttered “uh-huh” earlier – made her suck in a quick breath. Her eyes darted back to his. Her heart beat quickened. Heat flooded her face.
The sound of throat clearing and giggling whipped Mia and Tanner’s heads around to check who was behind them.  
Her friends Justin and Skye stood there, holding hands, big grins on their faces. They joined Tanner and Mia at the rails of the horse corral.
When Mia realized Tanner was still holding her hand she felt like a child caught with her fingers in the candy dish. Embarrassed, she started to yank free. But Tanner tightened his grip, just enough to let her know she was welcome to keep her hand right where it was. As soon as she relaxed her fingers, he reciprocated, cupping his big hand sweetly, protectively around her much smaller one.

~Author Bio~
Danita Cahill is an award-winning freelance writer and photographer. She’s written and published over 2,100 newspaper articles and columns for 11 different Northwest newspapers, and dozens of magazine stories and photo layouts for six different magazines. She has five stories and a photo in two of HCI’s anthologies and has self-published five books – two non-fiction and three fiction titles. Danita lives in the Pacific NW on a small Oregon farm with her family and animals, including a herd of 10 alpacas. Besides running children to and fro and caring for her gardens, critters and family, Danita stays busy working on magazine assignments and her next book projects.
Visit Danita’s author page:
Follow Danita on Twitter: @DanitaCahill

If you’d like to subscribe to Danita Cahill’s newsletter and receive information about book signings, appearances, and new book releases, please send an email to: danita@centurylink.net and put “newsletter” in the subject line. 

Friday, August 8, 2014

Never Trust a Man with Little Ears (A Bellham Romance) - Part Two of Four

So here she was, shy as ever, but trying to act bold, approaching and standing beside a hot stranger in a red shirt and snug-fitting jeans. All the while hoping and praying he was the correct cowboy – the one her best friend had told her about.
Mia snuck a peek at the cowboy out of the corner of her eye. If this was the right guy – Hunter or Trapper or whatever the heck his name was, Skye was definitely right about the hot part. A hard-bodied, good-looking guy from boots to hat – dark hair, sun-browned skin, big, strong-boned hands, and the casual, confident grace particular to active, physically-fit young men. Mia, who was nineteen, guessed him to be a couple years older.
For several minutes she continued to stare into the pen of horses. She wanted to bolt in self-conscious panic from the cowboy’s good looks, confident air, and uncertain identity. But she held her ground, waiting for him to say something.
Anything.
Moment after long moment drug by.
Please, say something.
She’d about given up on him ever speaking, and was preparing to leave the wafting dust, and the silent cowboy to seek refuge with Skye and Justin, when suddenly he spoke, startling her.
“What do you think?” his voice was pitched in an impossibly low octave.
“Oh,” Mia said, turning to face him. “Were you talking to me?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, drawing out the two syllables, making them sound way sexier than necessary – not that Mia minded. “What do you think of the horses?”
His voice was deep, raw, amber honey. She could listen to it for hours.
Bet it would sound amazing with my head pressed against his chest.  
But she couldn’t just stand there daydreaming. He’d asked her a question – it was her turn to speak. If I don’t answer he’ll probably think I’m either stuck up, simple minded, or both. Although her tongue felt tangled and knotted and dry, she needed to form words. She willed her tongue to move, her lips to function. 
“Beautiful animals,” she finally managed. “But some look really wild.” Beautiful. Wild. Like you, maybe.  
“Yep,” he said with a slow, sultry grin. “Exactly.”
Goose bumps skittered along Mia’s arms and chest.
“I hope to draw one of the wild ones,” he said.
“Why?” A shudder of fear shot up her back. Whether it was fear of him, or fear for him, she wasn’t certain.
“Because I’d have a better chance of scoring a good ride, of course.”
“Oh.” Mia said, “I see.” But she didn’t want to see. Didn’t want the black-and-white shuttering image of a rogue horse launching this beautiful man through the air.

~Author Bio~
Danita Cahill is an award-winning freelance writer and photographer. She’s written and published over 2,100 newspaper articles and columns for 11 different Northwest newspapers, and dozens of magazine stories and photo layouts for six different magazines. She has five stories and a photo in two of HCI’s anthologies and has self-published five books – two non-fiction and three fiction titles. Danita lives in the Pacific NW on a small Oregon farm with her family and animals, including a herd of 10 alpacas. Besides running children to and fro and caring for her gardens, critters and family, Danita stays busy working on magazine assignments and her next book projects.
Visit Danita’s author page:
Find Danita on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DanitaCahill
Follow Danita on Twitter: @DanitaCahill

If you’d like to subscribe to Danita Cahill’s newsletter and receive information about book signings, appearances, and new book releases, please send an email to: danita@centurylink.net and put “newsletter” in the subject line. 

Friday, August 1, 2014

Never Trust a Man with Little Ears (A Bellham Romance) - Part One of Four

You can’t trust a man with little ears.
The idiosyncratic bit of advice was one of many that Mia’s late grandfather had left her with when he passed away eleven months ago. Like this one, most of Papa Pete’s sayings were endearing, if somewhat ridiculous. Funny one of his “wisdoms” should pop into Mia’s head during the Bellham, Oregon, Valley River Rodeo. At this very moment, too – the exact moment she spotted the cowboy.
He was the cowboy her best friend, Skye had told her about. Wasn’t he? Tall. Muscular. Red shirt. It had to be him!
His forearms were propped on the metal rail of a horse pen, one boot firmly planted behind him in the dust, the leg nearest the rail bent and relaxed.
Papa Pete’s advice might seem silly, but as Mia moved closer to the cowboy she couldn’t stop her gaze from sliding along his firm backside, gliding over the powerful round of his shoulder, and up his thick neck to land on his lobe – the only part of his ear she could see. His white straw cowboy hat covered the rest.
Good guys wear white hats.  
His earlobe was decidedly full and thick. Mia let out a small sigh of relief and forced her new boots to approach the rail and stand nearby. Bright August heat radiated off the metal stock panels. She leaned her arms on one of the rails anyway and fought the urge to jerk back from the scorch of hot steel against her bare skin.
The dense, sweet scent of horse sweat permeated the air, blending agreeably with her pineapple-scented sunscreen. Mia’s arms absorbed, and adjusted, to the heat from the rail.
Always let the man speak first.
As antiquated as that piece of Papa-Pete advice was, Mia took it anyway. She remained silent and assessed the ten broncs mulling about, scuffling and stirring up dust inside the pen. Some were sleek, regal creatures, with the appearance of tame, honest saddle horses – like Lady, the gentle palomino from her childhood. Others had scarred, rough coats, and a rogue glint in their eyes, as though they’d just as soon throw and stomp a rider as look at him. If the cowboy leaning on the rail beside her was a horse, Mia wondered which sort he’d be.
He was someone Justin, Skye’s bareback-bronc-riding boyfriend knew. Well, kinda, sorta knew through a friend of a friend.
“He’s a bronc rider, too, Justin’s met him before. Heard he’s a good guy, he just can’t for sure remember his name…Trapper…Hunter… something like that,” Skye had told Mia yesterday when trying, yet again, to talk her into going along to the rodeo today.
Mia hadn’t wanted to come, didn’t want to be a third wheel to Justin and Skye and their perpetual hand holding, kissing, and pet name calling. She loved Skye like a sister, but all the lovey-dovey stuff made Mia uncomfortable. And maybe just a teeny bit envious.  
When Mia mentioned her reluctance at being a tag along, Skye took it on as a challenge to find Mia a date. “He’s single. And he’s hot,” Skye had said about the bronc rider, trying to sway her.
So, after much coaxing and coercing, and with the promise of meeting a decent, attractive guy, Mia finally relented.
Justin and Skye were on the other side of the rodeo grounds trying to locate Hunter, or Trapper, or whatever this cowboy’s name happened to be. But it was Mia, by herself, who tracked him down first. She felt a glow of accomplishment. Although now that she’d found him standing in the dust-moated sunlight, she wasn’t exactly sure what to do, or what to say. Especially since she wasn’t one-hundred percent sure this was even the right cowboy.

~Author Bio~
Danita Cahill is an award-winning freelance writer and photographer. She’s written and published over 2,100 newspaper articles and columns for 11 different Northwest newspapers, and dozens of magazine stories and photo layouts for six different magazines. She has five stories and a photo in two of HCI’s anthologies and has self-published five books – two non-fiction and three fiction titles. Danita lives in the Pacific NW on a small Oregon farm with her family and animals, including a herd of 10 alpacas. Besides running children to and fro and caring for her gardens, critters and family, Danita stays busy working on magazine assignments and her next book projects.
Visit Danita’s author page:
Find Danita on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DanitaCahill
Follow Danita on Twitter: @DanitaCahill

If you’d like to subscribe to Danita Cahill’s newsletter and receive information about book signings, appearances, and new book releases, please send an email to: danita@centurylink.net and put “newsletter” in the subject line. 

Friday, December 27, 2013

Alone in the Universe

I’d been so wrong. About everything.

Now I was so screwed.
I always believed life wasn’t real. You know, as if everything was one big hologram and nobody else really existed. Just me. Alone in the world. And I’d acted accordingly.

Never had I imagined I was the center of my universe. Still, no matter how many people surrounded me, no matter how many activities I cluttered into my life, I couldn’t shake an overwhelming sense of isolation. Imagine my surprise when I woke up dead—well, technically when I died and woke up no longer in my familiar world.  My earthly theories were all wet—sopping wet.  So where was I?
And how much trouble awaited me? Would I be punished for my me-centric life?

The scenery loomed dark and forbidding. Despite the intense fog, I didn’t think I’d arrived in hell. At least not in society’s accepted version of the underworld. Where were the fire pits and demons?
The place couldn’t be described as heaven either. Shadows abounded, even without any considerable light source to cast them. Worse, I didn’t feel anything close to eternal bliss.

Weird that I no longer felt alone. On a less positive note, alone suddenly seemed rather enticing. Beings scurried about—cartoonish characters on a mission.  Men, women, children. Not in droves, but I kept encountering individual persons as I drifted. A woman hurried by. A young girl passed with her nose in the air. Every few minutes a man would stride past. Never the same person.
None of the beings noticed me.  “Where am I?” I repeated.

No one acknowledged my words. Not even a “get lost.”
So I walked—actually I sort of moved without walking. And refused to give up.  Whenever I encountered anyone, I repeated the same phrase, “Excuse me.”

Not a single reply.
Maybe I was a ghost.  Cool.

I needed to validate my theory. After looking left, and then right, I spotted a test subject: a rather thin man with equally thin lips.
“Excuse me.”

As predicted, no answer, but you can’t blame a girl for trying. I couldn’t exactly blitz the man without warning.  There was the odd chance I wasn’t a ghost and the hip check I planned to throw might cause Mr. Silent Slim some discomfort.
I headed straight toward him in an out-and-out run. Only my feet didn’t jog because there was no ground. My effort resulted in faster movement and I barreled toward Mr. Slim. “Hey, Mister.” Even with the freight train better known as me closing in, he still didn’t acknowledge me.

For his sake, I really hoped I was a ghost. My body steamrolled toward the man with a speed that frightened me.
At the last second, the man darted to my left. I almost toppled into the mist.

He saw me. Or at least he sensed me. Otherwise he wouldn’t have shifted. Right?
How rude.

Slim kept walking, completely ignoring me. Nu-uh. Mr. Rude wouldn’t get away that easily.
I executed a one-eighty and moved faster than a floaty person with no solid footing should be able to scuttle.  I bumped into Slim’s skinny butt with intense momentum.

And landed on my derriere. The misty ground was surprisingly hard.
Okay. So I maybe I wasn’t a ghost—not the kind I’d imagined anyway.

The man paused. Turning, he frowned in my direction, still managing to avoid eye contact. After shaking his head exactly three times, he pointed to my left.
I gazed in the direction of his extended index finger. The haze parted, revealing a large door with a sign on it:  INFORMATION.

They might have placed that room a tad closer to the debarkation point.
The door looked no more than one-hundred feet away, but the trek took me about fifteen minutes. I knocked once and walked inside. An official looking man in a purple suit sat behind an all white desk staring at a clipboard with a bored expression.  I couldn’t see his face—couldn’t tell if he were old or young.  Again, it was that presence thing.

“Sir. Can you tell me where I am? Where I’m supposed to go?”
He didn’t reply, not with words anyway, but his message came through loud and clear. “Go away.”

“Uh, em, sure, Buster. Exactly where should I go?”
The man actually raised his head. I couldn’t see his features even though no fog or other obstruction floated in the room.  Something cloaked him.

He laughed. Out loud. A real laugh, not some projected emotion like his “go away.” “No one’s ever asked that before. Actually—what’s your name, sugar?”
“Sammie.”

“Well, Sammie. People here are doing things. We don’t interact with others without an expressed reason.”
I bit at my lip, trying to be patient. “That’s all well and good, but….” I paused, figuring it wouldn’t help my cause to call him “Bozo.” My emotion must have been projected, however, because the face I couldn’t see raised an eyebrow. “Eh, excuse me…sir. The problem is I don’t know where here is and I have no idea what this person is supposed to do.”

His brown eyes seemed a bit more prominent in his haze of a face. A strange expression flickered for a second. “My, my. Aren’t you a breath of fresh ozone? You’re going to be a problem, aren’t you?”
He raised his head and studied me, his features more clear. Flecks of green and amber danced in his brown eyes—perhaps the most mesmerizing irises I’d ever encountered. Something about the man made me calmer and tense at the same time.

“She certainly is.” Not Brown Eyes voice.
Who’d spoken? After hours of not being acknowledged, having two beings speaking practically overwhelmed my senses.

“I don’t mean to be…” I whirled to address the new voice.
Coming face-to-face with Slim made me forget what I’d intended to say. Hadn’t he been headed in the opposite direction? And in a big hurry?

“Where are your papers?” Slim asked.
I turned to brown eyes, hoping for some clarification, and maybe a little sympathy, but that being had vanished. Crap. I rather liked him.

“Papers, Ms. Samantha Camille Charles. Where are your papers?”
“What papers?” And how did the man who wouldn’t acknowledge me suddenly know my name?

 “Of course you don’t have papers. That’d be too easy.” An insult, no doubt.
“No, I don’t have any papers. I just died—at least I think I did. You can’t get hit by an eighteen-wheeler straight on and survive.”

“Sure you can.” What was he talking about?
I shook my head. “Not when a big ol’ truck pushes you over a cliff and your car bounces off several boulders as it careens toward the earth a hundred yards away. And then explodes in a fiery crash.”

The man smiled. And scared the be-geezus out of me. 
“I’m thrilled you find my demise amusing.”

He kept grinning, showing not one iota of remorse for his abysmal behavior. “You remember that?”
I nodded. “Not something a girl forgets.”

The smirk left Slim’s face. “They usually do.”
Exactly what did that mean? And exactly  when—if ever—would I get some answers. “Can you help me or not?”

Slim sighed. You’d think I’d asked for his first born—or maybe first-dead, given my situation.
“Someone will be here shortly,” he said, reminding me of a DMV employee.

“To do what, exactly?”
“To give us a ride over to Lost Souls.”

Eh, say what?  “Lost Souls?”
The man stared up at the ceiling, as if some divine answer was written there. “Since you have no papers and no instructions, I’m guessing you’re not supposed to be here. Unless…”

My questions about being a lost soul evaporated and a kernel of hope sprouted in my mist-weary psyche. “Not supposed to be here?  Does that mean I can go back to earth?”
“Earth?” His gaze returned to my face—the intensity in his boredom almost a physical thing. “Never heard of it. What dimension is it in?”

Dimension? How the devil would I know? “Eh, the Fifth Dimension? In the age of Aquarius.”
His expression didn’t change. Guess he hadn’t gotten my joke about the 1960s band. “Never heard of that either.”

Crap. The urge to stomp my foot proved overwhelming.  Without a solid surface, the gesture did little to lessen my ever-increasing annoyance. “You’ve really never heard of earth?”
Slim ignored me. Big surprise. Maybe that was my hell—to have everyone act as if I didn’t exist. I might have been able to accept that, but his head spun completely around on his neck. Scared the crap out of me and my hereafter.

“Mister?”
Almost immediately, his head ended the rotation.  “Had to contact Lost Souls.”

Not good. “Am I really a lost soul?”
“Do you know where you are?”

I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know.
“Then you’re a lost soul.”

Smart ass.  “Wait…” I racked my brain—not finding much to help my cause since the whole dying thing had pretty much wasted my neurons.  Hold on. “Before…”
“I am required to tell you that you must board the bus the moment it stops.”

A bus? I couldn’t concentrate. Something nagged at my brain. Oh, yeah. “Wait. Before, you said ‘unless.’ I’m not supposed to be here unless… Unless what?”
Slim’s eyebrow rose, just a little, giving him an expression that looked rather demonic. “Observant aren’t you?”

The man tilted his head to one side. “It’s here.”
“What’s here?”

“The Lost Souls transport. You must hurry.”
No way. The Lost Souls transport seemed like the fire of the proverbial frying pan.

Then a sense of urgency took hold. Without meaning to, I actually ran toward the Transport. I say actually because I could feel my feet actually on a firm surface. Was that Brown Eyes in the front seat?
The vehicle sat in the mist, no sound emanating from the strange shaped exterior, no driver in sight. If Brown Eyes had been onboard, he’d disappeared.

Why was I so disappointed? I stopped to catch my breath, only to remember I didn’t have one.
Then I heard the laughter. Silent Slim, a.k.a. the Thin Man, stood at the bottom of the entrance ramp, effectively blocking the only entrance onto the Transport.

Why did you stop?  Hurry.
Was that Brown Eyes?

Maybe it was divine intervention, but I knew I couldn’t miss the Transport. I ran at full speed.
I’d almost reached the vehicle when Slim pulled out a sheet of paper. He waved them across the door and stepped inside. Slim and the Transport disappeared.

I don’t know what happened next, but I found myself inside the information booth. “The Last Train To Clarksville,” another 60’s hit, played on and on in a continuously loop.  When I’d visited the room before, the sign clearly read “INFORMATION.” From my new vantage point, on the other side of the desk, the sign flashed “PURGATORY.”
Great. I really was being punished, for I could not leave the booth.

I did find some reading material, assuming one considers an operator’s manual reading material.  I devoured the volume.
And wished I hadn’t. The only way a soul could escape purgatory was to steal another’s soul. Translation, some innocent—or worse, some saintly—being would have to take my place in purgatory.

That wasn’t likely to happen. So I sat.
And sat. And sat. Once again, the only soul in the Universe.

I adjusted. What else could I do? Alone was a familiar, if almost unbearable state.  I don’t know how many days I waited. Eternity seemed like a coffee break by comparison .
Then it happened. A soul arrived, seeking direction.

“Do you have your papers?” I asked.
Why had Slim demanded my papers? The manual clearly stated that the booth dweller should reassure the lost traveler.

The boy shook his head.
Odd. The fluorescent sheets glowed like a neon sign.

“In your hands, son. Your papers are in your hand.”
The boy frowned but looked at the pages in his fingers. After a moment, he smiled. “Mom’s there.”

I certainly hoped so.
He grinned again. “Thanks, Miss.”

Before I could reply, he vanished in a glow of light. Cool.
I sat back into my chair, which seemed to have molded to my derriere. When had the hard surface been replaced with memory-foam?

No doubt another decade would pass before another soul came along to divert my tedium, but I could do this. Not like I had a choice. Somehow, things didn’t seem so bad.
“You’re smiling.”

I almost fell out of my newly-padded seat. “Brown Eyes.”
“So how are you, Sammie? Still causing trouble?”

“If only.” I tried to laugh, but I couldn’t focus under the intensity of his stare.
“You could have taken his papers, you know?”

“Do what?”
Brown Eyes smiled, making me feel like purgatory didn’t exist. Even though my thoughts would send me straight to hell.

“The papers. Doesn’t happen often, but new arrivals, especially arrivals who’d had a traumatic passing, don’t always see the papers. You could have snatched the kid’s credentials and been out of here.”
“New arrivals?” Was he kidding? “Don’t you mean Lost Souls?”

Brown Eyes shook his head. “No such thing.”
“So why do they call it the Lost Souls Transport?”

“They don’t.”
“But Slim said—”

“Slim lied. He stole your papers, thinking he’d avoid doing his time.”
“Stole my… When I bumped into him.” I couldn’t see it at the time, but suddenly I remembered everything. Slim had taken my papers.

Brown Eyes nodded. “You could have done the same thing.”
I shook my head. “No way.”

He studied my face. I studied him right back, wondering why he seemed so clear. I could make out every molecule of his handsome face. “Maybe next time.”
“Next time?”

“The next time a confused soul finds your booth.”
I shook my head again. “If that’s what I have to do to get out of here, then I guess I really am stuck in purgatory.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re giving up on heaven? Even if the papers belong to some corporate raider or drug dealer? Someone who deserves purgatory?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It just wouldn’t be…”

“Right?”
I shrugged again, not comfortable discussing right and wrong in a place so full of gray. “What’s your story, Brown…eh, Mister.” Yikes, I’d almost called him Brown Eyes again. “You’re clearly not lost. Or rather confused.”

“I supervise the information booth workers. Make sure they follow the rules.”
Say what? I mean, I liked the big dude—as in really liked him—but letting me lose my spot on the Transport seat just seemed mean. “Yet you let Slim take my seat?”

“Not exactly. Don’t you worry, Slim will get what’s coming to him.”
I didn’t really care about Slim. “What about me?”

He grinned. “Been a long time since someone caused trouble.  Of all the information joints, in all the realms, in all the worlds, and you wander into mine.”
I thought that line came from some old black-and-white movie, but the source of his quote didn’t rank high on my important stuff list at the moment. “Eh, could you translate that into something more understandable?”

“I wanted to keep you on my staff a while longer—see if you’re as good as you seem.”
“Duh—what?”

“What can I say?” Darn man actually winked at me. “I like you.”
I swear, I had to have lungs, because they stopped working. “You left me in purgatory because you like me?

He grinned again, like his killer smile would get him out of trouble.  “I really like you.”
I sputtered.  There simply weren’t words. Even in the afterlife, the male intellect remained an oxymoron.

“Besides…” He pointed at the Purgatory sign—which no longer read PURGATORY.  Instead, COFFEE? flashed into the swirling atmosphere. “Want to get out of here?”
No doubt about it, I wasn’t alone in the universe. And the afterlife had definitely gotten interesting.