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About the author:
My lifelong ambition to write and publish fiction became reality when Pigeon in a Snare ‘the 1st in my romantic suspense series, collectively titled ‘Birds in Peril’ was published by AKW ebooks in May of 2014. #2 in the series, ‘Roses for the Sparrow’ was published in Oct, 2014. Unfortunately, the owner/publisher of AKW ebooks retired at the end of 2014 and AKW closed its doors. Rather than seek another publisher, I chose to try the world of Independent Publishing. The result is #3 in my ‘Bird’ series, ‘Plight of the Wren’. Plight of the Wren is to be officially published on Aug. 15, 2015 and is available for pre-order as of Aug. 5, 2015
What inspired you to write your book?
When I began to write Pigeon I had no idea the story would develop into a full series. But the characters keep calling to me. They just will not give me peace until ALL of their tale is told. While each new title has separate primary characters and a ‘private’ story between two new lovers, the old characters remain in the background, the specter of Humsler (fear of his wrath) hovers over everyone. So, in the end, separate stories connect to one long tale of romance, suspense, mystery and love between family and friends who stick together against all odds…and the enemy
Here is a short sample from the book:
The morning passed relatively fast while Susie caught up on laundry and house cleaning. She spent some time sorting mail and listening to the endless messages on her answering machine. Most were from nosey callers or telemarketers. The single important call had come from Mike-the-Repairman early Friday morning. Her car was repaired, he said. He was unable to reach her on her cell phone, but the problem with her car was computer generated. He was sorry he hadn’t found it before.
When Ted did not return by early afternoon, Susie decided she had put off cleaning the trash from the yard long enough. Armed with several large garbage bags and a yard rake, she began to tackle the debris around the children’s play area.
She had cleaned up about half of the mess when a gray Lincoln Town Car steered into her driveway. She eyed it warily, realizing she did not know anyone who drove that kind of car. When Bruce emerged from the luxury vehicle, she wished she had not convinced Thad to dismiss the security guards around her house so soon.
Susie clutched the rake with both hands, prepared to defend herself as she was certain would be necessary.
Bruce sauntered across the yard sporting his most amiable salesman’s smile. He was a handsome man; impeccably dressed in brown slacks and a tan designer shirt. Tall and muscular, he looked like he was in some kind of fitness program. His blond hair was precisely trimmed and combed. He’d had the tooth capped he had chipped playing touch football in college.
Bruce had always considered menial tasks such as cleaning up messes (his or anyone else’s) beneath his station in life. By the way his expression soured, while he studied the rake in her hand and the bags of trash at her feet, he still thought that way. “Surely, you can afford to hire someone else to do that,” were the first words he spoke to her in three years. “You quit your job already?”
“No,” Susie replied cryptically. “Thanks to a number of inconsiderate people, I had work to do at home, so I took the day off. What do you want?”
Bruce shrugged. Shoving his hands into his pockets he turned to survey the back of the bungalow, the yard and surrounding area. It was a far cry from his parents’ home or the house he and Susie lived in during their five year marriage. “You’ve come down a ways,” he said.
“This was my Grandma Nixon’s home,” Susie informed him, tersely. “Please don’t insult it—or her memory—by implying it is worth less than any fancy building you would choose to live in.”
“Developed a mouth when you got out on your own, too.”
“What do you want, Bruce?” Susie clutched the rake so tightly her knuckles hurt. Luckily, Bruce could not see that beneath her yard gloves.
His gaze raked her from head to toe; no doubt recognizing the halter and cut off jeans she wore. She’d purchased them before Wes was born. Perhaps, that they fit loosely after five years was a credit to her in Bruce’s eyes. Still, he sneered as his gaze raked over her hair, captured into a convenient pony tail by a scrungie.
“Just trying to make amends,” he said at last. “Word has it you said you need another car — on public television no less. I brought you one.”
“That?” She pointed to the Town Car.
“Sure. It’s got a few thousand miles on it, but it runs good. Be just right for you.”
“You have no idea what’s right for me,” Susie snapped. Tucking the rake under one arm, she retrieved a bag of trash in the other hand, and began to drag it toward the alley, where a trash collector would pick it up the next morning.
Bruce stepped in front of her. She had sparked his anger. But then, she had known only a few minutes would pass before that was certain to happen. She wasn’t committing the wisest act by walking toward the alley this way, but neither was she going to cower from him — this time. She stepped around him and kept going, until he grasped hold of her upper arm to stop her.
“Let go of me, Bruce,” she warned. “You’ve already violated your parole by coming here.”
“Oh come on!” he exclaimed. “What the hell is wrong with you? I want you to transport our kids in a decent vehicle!”
“Let me go,” Susie repeated. He was hurting her arm. She had seen the look in his eye all too often. Anticipating the need for defense she swung the trash bag. Bruce deflected it with one arm, causing the bag to rip splattering garbage on his clothes. Astonishment caused him to release her arm as he jumped back, but the fury filling his eyes intensified. One fist clenched convulsively as he reached for her with the other hand.
At that moment, Ted’s black Escalade steered into her driveway. Ted braked the SUV to a screeching halt beside the Towncar and dashed to Susie’s rescue.
“Who the hell is he?” Bruce demanded. Both doubled fists swung low at his sides.
“My attorney,” Susie answered. She passed the rake from one hand to the other, not as if brandishing a weapon, but to cover the marks Bruce’s grasp had made on her upper arm. It throbbed like fire.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ted demanded of Bruce.
“It’s all right, Ted,” Susie said though her voice shook. “He’s leaving.”
“I brought you a car,” Bruce said. The syllables snapped icily between his teeth. His mouth turned down at the corners. His eyes glared.
“I don’t want that car — any car from you, Bruce,” Susie replied, finding courage now that Ted stood beside her. “Do you honestly believe I’m so stupid I don’t realize what has sparked your sudden concern?”
“You always were an ungrateful bitch,” Bruce growled threateningly.
Ted stepped forward, but Susie stood between them, boldly facing Bruce. “I gave you everything; but you cared so little, you left me bleeding while I miscarried our fourth child. You wouldn’t take responsibility for that, just like you refuse to take responsibility for our living children — at least no more responsibility than our divorce decree forces on you. I don’t need you. I don’t want anything from you. When I decide what kind of car I want, I will buy one from someone else. The same as I will raise my children to be good, responsible people by myself.”
Bruce raised a doubled fist, swinging toward Susie’s face with the strength of a man possessed. However, Ted caught Bruce’s arm behind his back and forcefully spun him toward the Town Car.
“Get out of here,” Ted growled. “Be damned sure I’m speaking to your parole officer about your visit here.” He gave Bruce a push that sent him stumbling over his own feet.
Bruce glared first at Ted, then at Susie. He didn’t speak — not to them anyway. His cursing was audible as he stumbled back to the Town Car, backed it into the street, and sped away on squealing tires.