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About the author:
My name is Delka Beazer. I’m married with young, adorable but demanding kids. Currently and, hopefully forever, I reside in the gorgeous state of Colorado about an hour away from the Wyoming border. We love to sneak over into Cheyenne on clear summer days and pretend we’re cowboys. I love reading everything except self-help books! However a good romance, any Tudor themed book and intricate fantasies are my sacred addictions.
What inspired you to write your book?
I wanted to write a story about a woman who had looked for love in the wrong place. What she got wasn’t her dream but a nightmare, an abusive spouse. I aimed to depict how hard it can be to break away from that. But this horrible situation didn’t destroy her ability to learn to love again. She regained her strength and with the friendship and love of a good man she took back her life back.
Here is a short sample from the book:
“I won’t go with that damn cop!” My growl cracked the tense silence of the cabin.
“Shut up, Rusty!” snapped my cousin Amhara. She stood several feet away, hands on hips, her doe eyes glittering with defiance and boiling rage, some of which wasn’t actually directed at me. She snarled through gritted teeth, “Carter hit you, and I’m calling Sheriff Boothe.”
I flinched. My fingers itched to touch the tender skin hidden under my shirt, but I couldn’t risk Amhara knowing anything else. She would blow up if she knew half of what I’d run from last night.
I tried for several calming breaths and pleaded with her. “Listen cuz,” I emphasized the word very slowly; this was our first meeting in half a decade, “stay out of this. Put the phone down and I’ll be outta your home in no time, okay?” My voice rasped as desperate hope struggled to rise in me.
Amhara didn’t budge. She shifted uncomfortably, her six-month belly stuck out like a perky beach ball.
Sadness clouded the rich brown of her eyes as she tried in vain to look beyond my green eyes and rich mahogany hair to where the real scars were hidden. Her mouth set in a mulish line. “Can’t do that. You’re itching to hit the road, and if I let you go without doing something, I will never forgive myself.”
I wasn’t convinced. “Stop trying to play God with my life,” I snapped.
She riled up. “I’m doing this for your own good, Rusty!” she yelled back.
“To heck you are,” I flared. “You just don’t want to feel guilty about your perfect little life and your poor, battered cousin!”
Whack. The slap swung my face to the side. My eyes smarted as they reconnected to her fuming ones. She shook her head, not sorry in the least. “Shit, I’d forgotten what a bitch you can be sometimes,” she groaned.
I rubbed my cheek and glared at her. “Takes one to know one,” I muttered.
Her lip began to tremble; she threw her arms around me. “Oh Rusty, why do you make it so hard to help you?” She kissed my injured cheek; her eyes were bright with tears. “I’m sorry for hitting you. I’m a jerk, but I care about you.”
Damn! Why did she have to go and apologize? Now I couldn’t stay mad at her.
I placed my hand over hers, and tried for a reassuring smile. “Look, it’s okay. I’ve had far worse than a little old slap.”
She gasped and we stood there in silence, then she flew into action and the black smart phone appeared in her hand again, her brow furrowed in determination. “You’re not going back, do you hear me?” She stabbed a couple of keys on the phone.
“Wanna bet?” I whispered so softly I knew she didn’t hear. I turned away from her and I felt lost all over again. I had gone back every single time. Nothing had ever changed that. I was faintly surprised that he hadn’t tracked me down yet.