#Excerpt

#Bold&BlatantSelfPromo – #Excerpt – #TheEmissary2:ToLoveSomebody

/ Marcia / 19 Comments

 

Time for more Bold & Blatant Promotions around here, and today, I’m featuring The Emissary 2: To Love Somebody. Hope you enjoyed meeting Jake and Azrael the last time around, and are ready for a hint at what comes next. Happy reading!

“Trouble never does a head count before showing up.”

BLURB

They’re back!

Jake and Dodger, the first (and so far, only) Emissaries to the Angels, are on the road again.

They’re looking for mortals about to take a wrong turn. You know the ones—the kid thinking about stealing from a corner market or the man planning to lie about a coworker and destroy her career. Yeah, them. People on the brink of making a mistake that could send them down that wrong road and jeopardize their mortal souls.

Of course, there are rules by which the emissaries must play, and the archangel Azrael stands ready to enforce them. First and foremost, a person’s free will must never be compromised. Emissaries are allowed to use only the smallest of mental nudges. Thankfully, a whispered suggestion here or images of a better course of action there is usually all it takes. The potential mugger walks on by. The thief drops the wallet back into the unattended purse. But whether the results are obvious or not, Jake and Dodger are fully committed to making a positive difference, even as they struggle with issues of their own.

Will Dodger get over losing his chance to learn what true love is all about? Will Jake survive the grueling angelic equivalent of Boot Camp? Will Azrael ever finish the Official Emissarial Guidebook—including the chapter titled Do Not Even Think About It?

One thing’s for sure—Jake’s and Dodger’s strengths are growing daily, as they help more and more people make better choices. But is the price for so much power higher than they’re willing to pay?

EXCERPT

A Young Man and His Mentor/Father Figure
Sitting in a Booth Where Cracked Red Vinyl Had Run Amuck,
Ordering That Too-Late Breakfast or Too-Early Lunch,
While Studiously Avoiding Each Other’s Eyes.
~~~ 

“WHY DO YOU supposed diners always have red plastic seats and red Formica tables? I mean, is it like a law, or somethin’? Part of the original blueprints? Or building code?”

Jake watched Dodger drumming nervous fingers on that very Formica tabletop and knew the boy wanted to talk. He wasn’t going to push him, however. As proven once again by this morning’s events, that never worked. When he was ready, he would talk. Until then, apparently diner décor was what interested him most.

“No idea. Maybe you can research that while we’re on the road so we’ll learn what’s what before we stop at another one.”

Dodger stared out the window. “You’re bein’ condescending, you know.”

“Sorry. Just trying to help you find something to talk about.”

“Well, don’t. I don’t really wanna talk about diners or Formica or anything else like that, and you know it.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. But to be fair, you did talk about it, so I was just playing along.” Jake took a sip of his iced tea, waited a beat, then tried again. “Dodger, you don’t need to explain anything to me. I’m in your corner, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean you have to tell me every detail from your life before we met.”

Finally, Dodger’s face swung back toward Jake. “But I do—at least I do, if it’s somethin’ I need you to understand. And this is.”

“Okay, then. As long as it’s what you want, I’ll always listen. And I’ll always help if I can.”

“I know that. I think I’ve known that since that day in the hospital parking lot, when you told me you wouldn’t take me back to the crap life I was livin’ before you rescued me. And I do trust you. It’s only that I’ve never talked about stuff like this to anyone. Ever. I don’t have any idea how to start.”

“Well, before you go any further, let me say that I didn’t mean to act like there was something wrong with you. Not at all. The honest truth is, as I look back on my own life and think about what was going on with young people around me, I suspect there were way too many of them having sex before they were emotionally mature enough to take that step. But the right time and circumstances are different for everyone, and I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging you.”

Dodger appeared to be inspecting the Formica all over again while his face turned just as red, but waiting was something Jake was good at. It was a skill the boy had helped him perfect.

A few minutes crept by, then Dodger plunged in. “Don’t know if I was ready for it or not, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Not at first, anyway. I was a shrimpy little kid, and way too young to interest the girls. A couple of years later, I’d put on some weight, and must have looked better. Next thing I knew, there was some coked-up, empty-eyed girl or another backin’ me into a corner every time I turned around.” He paused, then ground out, “I hated it!”

“Okay. Do you want to tell me why?”

It took three tries before Dodger was able to answer, and Jake wasn’t surprised at the pain in the boy’s voice.

“I had this dumbass idea when I left home that I’d find someone who cared about me. Someone I’d matter to.” He looked up, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I guess I just wanted somebody, somewhere, to love me. No one ever had, Jake, and even as messed up as I was by then, one thing I knew for damn sure—none of those girls followin’ us runners around were gonna love me, either.” He paused, then stared out the window again.

“So, you waited?”

Nodding, Dodger went on. “Yeah. I waited. And kept waiting. Not like I was holdin’ out for something permanent or anything. I just wanted it to matter. I wanted me to matter. Stupid, huh?”

“No, Dodge. Not stupid at all. Love is the one thing in the world that truly does matter, above all else. Of course you wanted it. We all do. We’re born reaching for it, and the fact that you already knew the truth of that at the age of sixteen is one more example of how special you are. Azrael was right in telling me to save your life at all costs, and right again in bringing you back. You have so much to give this world, and you’re making a real difference in the lives of others every single day. And as for someone loving you, I know this isn’t the same, but I couldn’t love you more if you were my own son.”

“Thank you for that,” Dodger whispered. “I can’t even put into words how much that means to me.” The boy stared at the Formica again, his face still forlorn.

“But?”

“But I still wish I’d managed to get laid. At least once.”

************************

Download on Kindle for Just $1.99

 Author Marcia Meara

Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years and four big cats.

When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. She enjoys nature. Really, really enjoys it. All of it! Well, almost all of it, anyway. From birds, to furry critters, to her very favorites, snakes. The exception would be spiders, which she truly loathes, convinced that anything with eight hairy legs is surely up to no good. She does not, however, kill spiders anymore, since she knows they have their place in the world. Besides, her husband now handles her Arachnid Catch and Release Program, and she’s good with that.

Spiders aside, the one thing Marcia would like to tell each of her readers is that it’s never too late to make your dreams come true. If, at the age of 69, she could write and publish a book (and thus fulfill 64 years of longing to do that very thing), you can make your own dreams a reality, too. Go for it! What have you got to lose?

Buy Marcia’s Books Here

Novels
Wake-Robin Ridge: Book 1
A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3
The Light: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 4

Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1
Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2
That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3

Riverbend Spinoff Novellas
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2 – To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3 – Love Hurts

Poetry
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Reach Marcia on Social Media Here:

Blog: The Write Stuff
Facebook
Email: marciameara16@gmail.com

#Bold&BlatantSelfPromo – #Excerpt – #TheEmissary

/ Marcia / 27 Comments

Working my way through my books, one by one, and today, I’d like to share an excerpt from the first novella in my  Riverbend spinoff series, The Emissary. Hope you’ll enjoy reading about the world’s first emissary to the angels (Jake) as he meets the Archangel Azrael (his boss) for the first time. Happy reading! 😀 

“An angel’s work is never done — that’s part of the gig.”

BLURB

An angel’s work is never done—that’s part of the gig. But angels hadn’t been created to deal with such a vastly over-populated planet, rife with misery, suffering, and general chaos. Helping souls in peril has become a nearly impossible job, and even angelic tempers are frayed.

The archangel Azrael has had enough. He believes he’s found a way to ease their burden while saving jeopardized humans, too—hired help.

When Jake Daughtry lost his life rescuing a total stranger from certain death, he was on the fast track to Heaven. But that was before Azrael pulled him right out of line at the Pearly Gates. Now, as an Emissary to the Angels, Jake is taking to the highway in a quest to help souls in trouble. But the innate stubbornness of human beings bent on self-destruction is a challenge unlike any he’s ever faced.

It’s up to Jake and Azrael to bridge the gap between humans and angels. Will they ever convince the Council of Angels this endeavor is worthwhile? Can Jake figure out how to play by Azrael’s complicated rules? Will Azrael ever master the use of contractions in general conversation?

To find out the answers, hop on board Jake’s big red-and-white semi and travel the roads from the Florida Keys to north Georgia on an adventure that will make you laugh hard and cry even harder.

EXCERPT

December 12, 2013
“Take This Job and Shove It”
Johnny Paycheck
~~~

Midnight, December 12, 2013,
Tooling Down a Lonely Highway,
Somewhere Between Here and There.

“WHAT AM I going to do with you, Jake?”

Jake snapped his head to the right, gasped at the sight of an angel in the passenger seat, then jerked forward again just in time to prevent his semi from running off the highway. “What the hell! Are you trying to kill us both?”

“Language, please. And do you really think either of us could be killed so easily?”

Instead of a reply, Jake fumed in silence, glaring through the rain-streaked windshield as the last of the daylight disappeared. He thought about not answering at all but figured that would only make things worse. “I’m guessing you must be Azrael. Nice of you to drop in for a surprise visit and all, but a bit of advance notice next time might help me avoid a fatal collision. I don’t think killing innocent humans is part of my job description.”

“Ah. Sarcasm. I had forgotten how amusing it can be. But advance warning would eliminate the element of surprise, now wouldn’t it?”

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

Azrael rumbled low in his throat. “Do not call me Boss.”

Jake felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. “Do you have to growl at me like that?”

“I think you heard me. I am not fond of that type of slang.”

“If I stop calling you ‘Boss,’ will you stop sneaking up on me and growling that way? It doesn’t sound very angelic. Besides, it’s creepy.”

“I will do as I wish. And this is not about me. It is about you.”

“Why? What have I done?”

“Suffice it to say, you have done plenty, as you perfectly well know. Or do you want me to read from the list? I can go all the way back to your first day, if you like.”

“My first day was only a few months ago, so how long can the list be? And by the way, your on-the-job training for new hires is sadly lacking, in my opinion.”

“No one asked your opinion, but since you are pleading ignorance, let us start with the most serious transgression, shall we? How about Gabe Angelino?”

Jake winced. He thought he’d gotten away with that one, but he should have known better. These people—and he used the term loosely—apparently didn’t miss much. And for Azrael, himself, to show up? Probably not good.

The angel continued. “Really, Jake? Could you have been any more obvious? They are not supposed to know who you represent, you understand.”

“Sorry. He tried so hard to ignore me, I thought I might have to up my nudges to catch his attention. But he stayed with me of his own free will, until we were close enough that I was pretty sure he’d walk the last mile or so, himself. That’s the main thing, right? It’s not like I gave him any clues while we were driving.”

“No. You left him a note, instead, and used it to compel his memory of you. He would have forgotten you completely had you managed to refrain from doing that.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to be completely forgotten.”

“I am sure you did not, but it is not about what you want, regardless of whether it feels good to find out you have made a difference. I am also sure you enjoyed being contacted.”

“I didn’t tell either of them how to reach me.”

“No, but once the man remembered you—”

“Hunter. His name is Hunter.”

Azrael huffed out a sharp breath. “Yes, I am aware of that, but I would rather not think of him in those terms.”

“What terms? Human ones?”

“It is always better not to keep them in your mind after your work is done. Now, as I was saying, once he remembered you, and told the woman—”

“Willow,” Jake muttered.

“The woman. Once he told the woman who you were, she put out a direct call to you. And that, as you well know, is not supposed to happen. Your behavior was in violation of the rules.”

“She emailed me, that’s all. And I didn’t think emailing a fake person, employed by a fake company, would be in a list of prohibited actions.”

“Why do you persist in being so difficult? You know the method matters not. It makes no difference if you are called via cell phone, email, or a tormented scream from deep within the abyss. You represent us. If called, you must answer. You have no choice. Therefore, you are not allowed to give them a way to reach you. Surely this was stressed repeatedly when you were given this job, and doing so is frowned upon by, shall we say, upper management. So. Why did you leave him a transparent clue like that, and a ‘nudge,’ as you put it, to remember your time together? Give me something, Jake. I would rather not lose you this early on.”

Jake lifted his foot from the accelerator and angled the semi off the highway and into a deserted truck stop. He parked, then faced Azrael, noting more concern than he’d expected in his companion’s arctic blue eyes. The urge to fight died.

“I’m not sure why. I did what I could for him, but he was far more desperate than any of my other riders had been. I was afraid he needed a lot more. So, I left him a fake name with a little push to spur his memory, in case he needed me again. What good is it to have this power if I can’t ever put it to use?”

Azrael groaned. “And I am the one who argued that you had so much potential.” He rubbed his pale hand over his face, then took a deep breath and gave it another go.

“Once again, you do understand that you broke the rules, right? They are not supposed to remember you, find you, or contact you. And you are absolutely, positively forbidden to contact them, too, in any way, shape, or form. You showed up on their doorstep, Jake. You had tea with them! What were you thinking?”

“Technically, I only had tea with Hunter. Willow stayed inside. And I was thinking that saving this gentle, decent person from harming himself was more important than saving my job.”

“Or your own soul?”

Jake’s mouth tightened. “So, if I break a heavenly, though still bureaucratic, rule to be sure a good man is safe, I flunk your tests, and my mortal soul is in danger? What is this? Go directly to Hell? Do not pass Go? Do not collect $200?”

Azrael buried his face in his hands.

Jake had no idea what was about to happen next, but he decided it really didn’t matter.

“If that’s the way it is, then I don’t want this job. I don’t know how to turn my back on people that way. I can’t do it.”

“What?” Azrael’s head jerked back up, and he stared at Jake, mouth agape. “What are you saying?”

“Simple. I quit.”

************************

Download on Kindle for Just $1.99

 Author Marcia Meara

Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years and four big cats.

When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. She enjoys nature. Really, really enjoys it. All of it! Well, almost all of it, anyway. From birds, to furry critters, to her very favorites, snakes. The exception would be spiders, which she truly loathes, convinced that anything with eight hairy legs is surely up to no good. She does not, however, kill spiders anymore, since she knows they have their place in the world. Besides, her husband now handles her Arachnid Catch and Release Program, and she’s good with that.

Spiders aside, the one thing Marcia would like to tell each of her readers is that it’s never too late to make your dreams come true. If, at the age of 69, she could write and publish a book (and thus fulfill 64 years of longing to do that very thing), you can make your own dreams a reality, too. Go for it! What have you got to lose?

Buy Marcia’s Books Here

Novels
Wake-Robin Ridge: Book 1
A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3
The Light: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 4

Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1
Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2
That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3

Riverbend Spinoff Novellas
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2 – To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3 – Love Hurts

Poetry
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Reach Marcia on Social Media Here:

Blog: The Write Stuff
Facebook
Email: marciameara16@gmail.com

#Bold&BlatantSelfPromo – #Excerpt – #FindingHunter – #RiverbendSeriesBook 2

/ Marcia / 37 Comments

Guess what today is, Boys & Girls? Yep. It’s another #Bold&BlantantSelf-Promo day, this time featuring Finding Hunter, Riverbend Book 2. Hunter Painter is a very special character, dear to my heart, and I  hope you’ll find the excerpt I’ve chosen to be both fun and intriguing. If you do and decide to give the book a try, I’ll be very interested in your take on his story.  Enjoy!

Keep An Eye on The Traveling Man

BLURB

In Book 2 of the Riverbend Series, Marcia Meara, author of Wake-Robin Ridge, A Boy Named Rabbit, and Harbinger, takes a look at the devastating effects of a family torn apart by a horrific tragedy, pitting brother against brother, and focusing on battling PTSD with the redemptive power of unwavering love and support.

Before, I never thought about taking a life. Not once.
Now, the thought fills my mind day and night, and
I wonder how I’ll hide that terrible need,
As an old car swings to the shoulder,
And stops.

~ Traveling Man ~

Hunter Painter’s darkest fears have shaped his offbeat personality since he was a child, crippling him in ways invisible to those unable to see past his quiet exterior. In a sleepy Florida town known for its eccentric inhabitants, he’s always been a mystery to most.

Only one person sees beyond Hunter’s quirky facade. Willow Greene, the new age herbalist who owns the local candle and potpourri shop, has secretly loved him since they were in high school. When, sixteen years later, she discovers Hunter has loved her just as long, Willow hopes her dreams are finally coming true.

Willow soon learns that Hunter fears happiness at her side isn’t in the cards for him. With her natural optimism and courage, she almost convinces him he’s wrong—that they can really have that life together they both long for—but even Willow can’t stop what Hunter knows is coming.

One by one, his worst nightmares become reality, culminating in an unthinkable tragedy, which devastates everyone it touches. Willow’s battle begins in earnest as Hunter is plunged into a bleak, guilt-ridden despair, threatening to destroy not only their love, but Hunter, himself.

Finding Hunter is the story of a lost man’s desperate struggle to make his way home again, and one woman’s unshakeable faith in him and the power of their love.

EXCERPT

Chapter 4
I’ve Gone to China
Saturday, December 29, 2012
~~~

HUNTER GROANED, PULLING his feather pillow over his head not only to block out the world, but just in case he started shouting in frustration.

What the hell happened? What the bloody hell just happened? Everything was fine. It was going better than I ever thought it would, and then suddenly it all went crazy. She kissed me! Why the hell did she kiss me? How the hell was I supposed to resist that?

The memory of that kiss rocketed into him so hot and fast, it scorched a path through his soul. Never in his life had a kiss transported him that way. He could still feel her mouth under his, sweet and yielding, and burning like fire. The raspberry scent of her hair lingered on his hands, and he would never, ever forget the taste of her skin. Every nerve ending in his body felt burned raw from the experience—so sensitive, the slightest breeze sliding over it would cause unbearable pain.

But somewhere in his torment, he also remembered how she had responded to him, moaning into that kiss, and whispering his name over and over as they clung to each other. She wanted him, too, a concept that had never once seemed a possibility in all the years he had loved her.

Doesn’t make it any better, does it, you stupid fool? Still never gonna happen. You don’t belong with Willow Greene, and nothing’s going to change that. All you’re doing here is torturing yourself.

He swore into his pillow. “’Take a chance,’ Gunn said. ‘Call her up,’ Gunn said. I’m gonna find that bastard and pound him to death with one of his own cameras!”

That image distracted him from his woes for about thirty seconds, and then he slid even deeper into the hole of misery he’d dug for himself.

Never gonna leave this room again. Can’t be trusted to go out into the real world and behave like a person with a single, functioning brain cell. Just gonna have my meals delivered right here, and Dad can walk Biscuit. I’ll tell him I’m sick—and keep telling him that for the rest of my life.

A sudden rap on the bedroom door interrupted his maudlin thoughts. “Hunter? Are you awake?”

“Yeah, Dad. You can come in.”

His father stuck his head in the door. “Sorry to bother you, son, but … well … there’s a young lady down here says she wants to talk to you.”

Horrified, Hunter bolted upright. “What? What’re you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this pretty little thing at the front door, says she has to talk to you. Real long hair, sweet smile, named … um …”

Hunter smacked his head. “Willow.”

His dad nodded. “That’s it. You wanna come down?”

“No! Did you already tell her I’m here?”

“Well, sure. Should I be lying to young ladies who are looking for you?”

“Yes! I mean, no, not generally. Just this one.”

“You do something to her, Hunter?”

“No, of course not. Well, not like you mean. It’s just … aw, it’s complicated, Dad. Can you just tell her I wasn’t up here, or I’m asleep, or I’m sick, or I’ve gone to China? Something? I’m not coming down there!”

His dad gave him a disapproving look. “Okay. Have it your way, but no, I’m not gonna lie to this little gal. I’m just gonna go tell her you don’t want to see her.”

Flinging himself back down on the bed, Hunter growled in frustration. “Fine. If that’s what you want to do, do it. I’m still not coming down.” He clamped the pillow back over his face, and refused to say anything else.

His dad sighed, closed the door a little too hard, and stomped down the stairs.

Two minutes later, Hunter heard a tap, and the sound of the door opening again.

This time, he didn’t bother to lift the pillow. “Did she go away?”

“No, I didn’t go away, Hunter. And I’m not going to.”

Once again, Hunter bolted to a sitting position. He dropped his pillow and stared at Willow, mouth agape. “Willow! You can’t just walk into my room. It’s … you … this isn’t …”

“Oh stop, Hunter. I’m here. And you and I are going to talk.”

************************

Download on Kindle for Just $3.99
Available in Print for  $13.99

 Author Marcia Meara

Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years and four big cats.

When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. She enjoys nature. Really, really enjoys it. All of it! Well, almost all of it, anyway. From birds, to furry critters, to her very favorites, snakes. The exception would be spiders, which she truly loathes, convinced that anything with eight hairy legs is surely up to no good. She does not, however, kill spiders anymore, since she knows they have their place in the world. Besides, her husband now handles her Arachnid Catch and Release Program, and she’s good with that.

Spiders aside, the one thing Marcia would like to tell each of her readers is that it’s never too late to make your dreams come true. If, at the age of 69, she could write and publish a book (and thus fulfill 64 years of longing to do that very thing), you can make your own dreams a reality, too. Go for it! What have you got to lose?

Buy Marcia’s Books Here

Novels
Wake-Robin Ridge: Book 1
A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3
The Light: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 4

Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1
Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2
That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3

Riverbend Spinoff Novellas
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2 – To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3 – Love Hurts

Poetry
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Reach Marcia on Social Media Here:

Blog: The Write Stuff
Facebook
Email: marciameara16@gmail.com

#Bold&BlatantSelfPromo – #Excerpt – #SwampGhosts – #RiverbendBook1

/ Marcia / 35 Comments

Time for another Bold & Blatant Self-Promotion post. This time around, I’ll be sharing Book 1 from my Riverbend series, Swamp Ghosts. While my Wake-Robin Ridge books have some mountain legends and mildly paranormal goings-on, there’s nothing like that in this series. (Mostly because the folks who live in Riverbend are weird enough all by themselves. ) If you haven’t yet read these books, I hope the following blurb and excerpt will pique your interest. Enjoy!

Riverbend, Where the Most Dangerous Animal in the Swamp
Walks on Two Legs.

BLURB

Wildlife photographer Gunnar Wolfe looked like the kind of guy every man wanted to be and every woman just plain wanted, and the St. Johns River of central Florida drew him like a magnet. Ecotour boat owner Maggie Devlin knew all the river’s secrets, including the deadliest ones found in the swamps. But neither Maggie nor Gunn was prepared for the danger that would come after them on two legs.

On a quest to make history photographing the rarest birds of them all, Gunnar hires the fiery, no-nonsense Maggie to canoe him into the most remote wetland areas in the state. He was unprepared for how much he would enjoy both the trips and Maggie’s company. He soon realizes he wants more than she’s able to give, but before he can win her over, they make a grisly discovery that changes everything, and turns the quiet little town of Riverbend upside down. A serial killer is on the prowl among them.

EXCERPT

Lunchtime
Southern Comfort Cafe
Riverbend, Florida
~~~

I sat at a small table outside of Southern Comfort Café, staring open-mouthed at Gunnar, who was finishing up the last of his lunch, oblivious to my chagrin.

“Are you freakin’ kidding me? You’ve never been in a canoe before?”

He glanced up, surprised at my expression. “Nope. Never have. Is that a problem for you?”

“You mean to tell me you plan to canoe all over Florida, in and out of the most hidden and inaccessible backwaters in the whole state, with no experience paddling a canoe at all?”

“Well … I’ve seen people paddle them. I think I understand the principle behind it all. Surely you can teach me the fundamentals before we set out?”

“We spent two hours yesterday, going over the areas you wanted to be taken to, and you didn’t think this was something you should mention? When were you planning to tell me?”

“Just now, obviously. I didn’t realize you’d be quite so alarmed by the fact.”

I huffed in exasperation. I even considered getting up and leaving. But then I thought about how much I needed the money. I guess when you are raised on the river, as I had been, you just take for granted that everyone knows about boats and canoes.

“Are you mad at me again?” Gunnar asked, head cocked slightly to one side. “I don’t think I’ve ever made one lady mad so often in such a short space of time before.” He looked genuinely puzzled.

I stared at the table, thinking about this whole venture, then I shook my head in resignation. No point in being a complete bitch about it, I guessed.

“We aren’t getting off to the best of starts here, are we?” I finally asked. “Look, Gunnar, if we are going to do this, we need to be able to communicate well with each other, and we should try to get along. I’m not used to working with anyone else, so I tend to be a bit … umm …”

“Bossy?” He offered.

“I was going to say used to doing things in a certain way, but I guess it might seem bossy to you. I’ll try to be less so. But you need to be open with me about things like this, and you need to trust my judgment about what’s important for these trips and what’s not. Whether we find your birds or we don’t, we’ll be spending some long days out on the river, in areas so remote, an accident could cause real problems for us. We need to work well together, understand each other, and focus on the goal of each trip.”

“Okay. I can understand that. I’ll try not to keep anything from you about my skill on the river, and I’ll trust your decisions when they concern navigation and safety.”

“What exactly are your skills on the river, Gunnar?”

“Gunn.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My friends call me Gunn. And to do this, I think we should be friends. Or at least not enemies.”

“Okay, Gunn. What are your skills on the river?”

He considered his reply for a minute, then gave a rueful shrug. “None.”

“None?”

“Nope. Not a one I can think of. Never been in a canoe, can’t remember the last time I was in a boat. I think it may have been back in Minnesota. Don’t fish. Don’t hunt. Wouldn’t know a garter snake from a water moccasin, or a bass from a gar. Pretty much no river skills at all.”

I was speechless for a minute. “But … what about all those gorgeous pictures of the river and the birds and alligators and stuff? Your wildlife photos are some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

He grinned. “Thank you, Margaret.”

“Maggie. If I’m to call you Gunn, you may as well call me Maggie, I guess. Everyone else does.”

“Deal. Thank you, Maggie. But if you look at my pictures more closely, you might realize that every single one of them was taken from the shoreline of nearby lakes and rivers—or from one of the bridges around here. All of the birds are common waders, seen everywhere, and you can’t pass by a drainage ditch that isn’t home to an alligator or a log full of turtles. I’ve taken all of my photos from dry land. Never been out on the water, even once.”

I digested that in silence for a moment, then had a sudden thought. “You aren’t afraid of boats, are you?”

“No, of course not,” he replied immediately. “Well, I mean, not as far as I know. I’m not afraid of the idea of boats, anyway. But having never actually been out on the river in one, I can’t say with absolute certainty whether I’ll like it or not.”

He must have noticed I was looking dismayed again, because he hastened to add, “Don’t worry, though. It doesn’t matter whether I like it or not. It’s the best way to find what I’m looking for, and I’ll adapt. I’m committed. Count on it.”

************************

Download on Kindle for Just $1.99
Available in Print for  $13.99

 Author Marcia Meara

Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years and four big cats.

When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. She enjoys nature. Really, really enjoys it. All of it! Well, almost all of it, anyway. From birds, to furry critters, to her very favorites, snakes. The exception would be spiders, which she truly loathes, convinced that anything with eight hairy legs is surely up to no good. She does not, however, kill spiders anymore, since she knows they have their place in the world. Besides, her husband now handles her Arachnid Catch and Release Program, and she’s good with that.

Spiders aside, the one thing Marcia would like to tell each of her readers is that it’s never too late to make your dreams come true. If, at the age of 69, she could write and publish a book (and thus fulfill 64 years of longing to do that very thing), you can make your own dreams a reality, too. Go for it! What have you got to lose?

Buy Marcia’s Books Here

Novels
Wake-Robin Ridge: Book 1
A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3
The Light: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 4

Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1
Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2
That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3

Riverbend Spinoff Novellas
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2 – To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3 – Love Hurts

Poetry
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Reach Marcia on Social Media Here:

Blog: The Write Stuff
Facebook
Email: marciameara16@gmail.com

 

#Bold&BlatantSelfPromo – #Excerpt – #TheLight – #WakeRobinRidgeBook4

/ Marcia / 29 Comments

Time for another Bold & Blatant Self-Promotion post, this time featuring the fourth novel in my Wake-Robin Ridge series, The Light. Hope you’ll enjoy checking out a blurb containing just a hint or two about a pretty big adventure in the lives of Rabbit, Mac,  Sarah, Branna, and Rabbit’s brand new friend, Austin Dupree,  along with the shortest excerpt accompanying any of these posts, so far. Thanks for reading!

The Magic is Back!

BLURB

For Robert MacKenzie Cole—or Rabbit, as he’s known to all—the chance to accompany his family to see North Carolina’s infamous Brown Mountain Lights has him nearly dizzy with excitement. And what better night to watch this unexplained phenomenon unfold than Halloween?

But when the entrancing, unpredictable lights show up, Rabbit gets far more than he bargained for. He’s gifted with what folks in the Appalachians call “the Sight,” and it’s this extrasensory perception that enables him to spot the one light different from all the rest.

In his biggest challenge to date, Rabbit—aided by his daddy and his newest friend, Austin Dupree— begins a quest to learn more about the mysterious light. Their investigation unveils a web of cons and corruption none of them expected and exposes a brutal murder along the way.

Throughout all, Rabbit is unfaltering in his commitment to do whatever it takes to understand the truth behind the glowing orb and to determine how he can help it. After all, it followed him home.

EXCERPT

January, 2014
North Carolina Mountains
~~~

A Frigid Winter Night
At a Deserted Mountain Overlook
On the Blue Ridge Parkway

 A GUST OF bitter, icy wind moaned through the trees, a barred owl’s mournful call the only reply. The night grew still again, with nothing breaking the silence along this deserted stretch of mountain highway.

As the sharp-eyed owl continued to watch for any movement below, his keen hearing picked up the distant hum of an approaching vehicle.

Out of the darkness, a low, sleek car roared around a curve, shattering the silence as it whipped into the overlook and came to a rumbling stop beside the stone parapet. The startled owl glided away to other hunting grounds, then all grew quiet again—though all was definitely not well.

A shadowy figure emerged from the driver’s seat, walked around to the back of the car, then opened the trunk. A brief, awkward struggle ensued, accompanied by a creative selection of muttered curses. In the end, a heavy bundle was hauled out, dropped unceremoniously to the asphalt, then dragged the few steps to the wall. One last heave, then the bundle was over the barrier, crashing through the underbrush as it bounced down the steep mountainside.

“Happy landings, you stupid bitch. Maybe you’ll be smarter in your next life.”

Thirty seconds later, the car peeled out of the parking area and headed back the direction it had come.

Another icy gust of wind moaned through the trees. This time, nothing at all replied.

************************

Download on Kindle for Just $3.99
Available in Print for $13.99

Author Marcia Meara

Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years and four big cats.

When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. She enjoys nature. Really, really enjoys it. All of it! Well, almost all of it, anyway. From birds, to furry critters, to her very favorites, snakes. The exception would be spiders, which she truly loathes, convinced that anything with eight hairy legs is surely up to no good. She does not, however, kill spiders anymore, since she knows they have their place in the world. Besides, her husband now handles her Arachnid Catch and Release Program, and she’s good with that.

Spiders aside, the one thing Marcia would like to tell each of her readers is that it’s never too late to make your dreams come true. If, at the age of 69, she could write and publish a book (and thus fulfill 64 years of longing to do that very thing), you can make your own dreams a reality, too. Go for it! What have you got to lose?

Buy Marcia’s Books Here

Novels
Wake-Robin Ridge: Book 1
A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3
The Light: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 4

Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1
Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2
That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3

Riverbend Spinoff Novellas
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2 – To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3 – Love Hurts

Poetry
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Reach Marcia on Social Media Here:

Blog: The Write Stuff
Facebook
Email: marciameara16@gmail.com

#Bold&BlatantSelfPromo – #Excerpt – #Harbinger – #WakeRobinRidgeBook3

/ Marcia / 30 Comments

And here I am again, folks, with another Bold and Blatant Self-Promotion post. Harbinger is the third book in my Wake-Robin Ridge series, and deals with the legend of the Black Dog (or Ol’ Shuck as he’s known in the North Carolina mountains)  as a harbinger of death. Take it from me, you don’t want to wake up to the sight of Ol’ Shuck sitting on your doorstep!😮 Even though it’s a bit longer than usual, I hope you’ll enjoy the excerpt I chose, and will be curious to find out how this beginning impacts Rabbit and his family. Thanks for reading!

Beware the Black Dog!

BLURB

“. . . he felt the wet slide of the dog’s burning hot tongue on his face, and the scrape of its razor sharp teeth against the top of his head. A white-hot agony of crushing pain followed, as the jaws began to close.”

The wine-red trillium that carpets the forests of the North Carolina Mountains is considered a welcome harbinger of spring—but not all such omens are happy ones. An Appalachian legend claims the Black Dog, or Ol’ Shuck, as he’s often called, is a harbinger of death. If you see him, you or someone you know is going to die.

But what happens when Ol’ Shuck starts coming for you in your dreams? Nightmares of epic proportions haunt the deacon of the Light of Grace Baptist Church, and bring terror into the lives of everyone around him. Even MacKenzie Cole and his adopted son, Rabbit, find themselves pulled into danger.

When Sheriff Raleigh Wardell asks Mac and Rabbit to help him solve a twenty-year-old cold case, Rabbit’s visions of a little girl lost set them on a path that soon collides with that of a desperate man being slowly driven mad by guilt.

As Rabbit’s gift of the Sight grows ever more powerful, his commitment to those who seek justice grows as well, even when their pleas come from beyond the grave.

EXCERPT

Early June, 1994
North Carolina Mountians
~~~

 With a loud whoosh, the doors pulled closed on the big, yellow bus, and it rumbled down the old, two-lane highway, leaving the shrieks and laughter of the last few kids hanging in the muggy air. Sissy Birdwell stood on the dusty berm, waving goodbye to friends she wouldn’t see again until the fall, and watched the bus disappear around the curve.

Reluctant to start the mile-long hike up the narrow, red clay road toward her home, she kicked aimlessly at some pebbles and twigs. Part of her was happy her mother had finally agreed she was old enough to walk home alone. After all, she was eight years old now, and certainly able to find her way to their house, which waited at the very end of the steep track. Another part of her shivered at the thought of the lonely, winding road ahead, which curved higher and higher through the thick woods, until it reached their clearing near the top of the ridge.

She would never tell her mama this, but the dark beneath the trees scared her. She was afraid of bears. And coyotes. And snakes. And lots of other things that might want to share the road with her on an early June afternoon. But nobody in the whole Birdwell family would understand that, not even the women. They’d been part of these mountains forever, and she was sure nothing scared them at all.

Of course, she could wait around for the second bus, then walk home with her brother—but that would be like admitting she was still a baby. No way she’d do that. So she squared her shoulders, and trudged up the drive toward home, refusing to look at the dusty trees and bushes that crowded close on either side. Instead, she pictured the litter of tiny pups their hound had presented them with last week, and tried to guess if any might have opened their eyes today.

Thinking about cuddling those precious babies with their sweet puppy breath warm on her face made Sissy walk a bit faster, kicking up puffs of reddish dust from the dirt road. As she rounded the first broad curve, she saw a lone figure coming toward her. Even from a distance, the way the sun glinted on his coppery hair told her it was Cadey Hagen, the son of their nearest neighbor, but what he was doing on their drive, she wasn’t sure. The Hagen cabin was a good ways down the eastern slope of the ridge.

“Hey, Sissy. You just gettin’ home from school?”

“Hey, Cadey. Yeah. Sorry you missed the last day party.”

He snorted. “Who needs them ol’ cupcakes, anyway? ‘specially if you gotta eat ‘em in a room full of stupid little kids.”

“Wasn’t all little kids. All the grades were there, an’ the cupcakes were pretty good, too. Why’d you skip it?”

He scowled, kicking at the dirt in disgust. “Didn’t skip it. Ol’ Lady Bratton suspended me for the last three days, just cuz she found me smokin’ behind the washroom.”

“Oh. Didn’t know you got suspended. I heard you were in trouble, though. Only I heard it was because you had you a knife at school, and then you smart-mouthed Miz Bratton when she caught you.”

“Well, she deserved it, dang ol’ biddy. Was only an ol’ Buck knife. Everybody carries ‘em. It don’t matter none to me, though. She’s the one gonna be sorry.”

Sissy wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she’d heard the bigger kids say Cadey was a boy you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of, so she kept quiet.

Oh, he looked innocent enough, with his gap-toothed grin, freckled face, and jug ears poking out from under a thatch of hair that was more red than blond. He reminded Sissy of Opie Taylor, from the television reruns of the Andy Griffith Show, except older. Maybe twelve. She didn’t really believe he’d hurt anyone. Still, something told her not to ask any questions.

They talked about school a moment or two, then Cadey made an announcement. “I got a secret. I’d tell you, but you ain’t old enough to trust with it.”

Of all the things he could have said, implying she was still a little girl was the one guaranteed to get a rise out of Sissy. “Am so old enough! Ain’t nobody can make me tell a secret, Cadey Hagen. Why’re you grinnin’ like that? I wanna know.”

“Just thinkin’. How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m eight, an’ I know how to pinkie swear, an’ everything. I ain’t gonna blab your old secret. Probably isn’t all that good, anyway.”

Now, Cadey was insulted. “Is so. Might be the best secret I ever had. You’d be pretty surprised, I bet.”

They stood, indignant, in the middle of the dirt road, hands on hips, glaring at each other, then Cadey cocked his head. “What’s your real name, anyway?”

“Cecelia Ann Birdwell. Why?”

Cadey looked her up and down. The two of them were a study in contrasts, and Sissy scowled at the boy, as he took in her long black braids, tied with red cotton bows, and her smooth, tan skin, so different from his pale, freckled complexion. Even her tip-tilted black eyes, which clearly showed the Cherokee heritage in her family, contrasted sharply with his bright blue ones. When he finished his inspection, he seemed to have come to a decision.

“Well, Cecelia Ann Birdwell, do you swear you’ll never tell? Hope to die? Lightnin’ strike you in the eye?”

She huffed out a breath. “Yes. I swear I won’t tell nobody, hope to die, an’ lightnin’ strikes, an’ all. Now what’s your big ol’ secret?”

“Come with me, then, an’ I’ll show you.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sissy Birdwell took Cadey Hagen’s outstretched hand, followed him into the woods … and never came out again.

************************

Download on Kindle for Just $3.99
Available in Print for $13.99

Author Marcia Meara

Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years and four big cats.

When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. She enjoys nature. Really, really enjoys it. All of it! Well, almost all of it, anyway. From birds, to furry critters, to her very favorites, snakes. The exception would be spiders, which she truly loathes, convinced that anything with eight hairy legs is surely up to no good. She does not, however, kill spiders anymore, since she knows they have their place in the world. Besides, her husband now handles her Arachnid Catch and Release Program, and she’s good with that.

Spiders aside, the one thing Marcia would like to tell each of her readers is that it’s never too late to make your dreams come true. If, at the age of 69, she could write and publish a book (and thus fulfill 64 years of longing to do that very thing), you can make your own dreams a reality, too. Go for it! What have you got to lose?

Buy Marcia’s Books Here

Novels
Wake-Robin Ridge: Book 1
A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3
The Light: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 4

Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1
Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2
That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3

Riverbend Spinoff Novellas
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2 – To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3 – Love Hurts

Poetry
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Reach Marcia on Social Media Here:

Blog: The Write Stuff
Facebook
Email: marciameara16@gmail.com

 

 

#Bold&BlatantSelfPromo – #Excerpt – #ABoyNamedRabbit -#WakeRobinRidgeBook2

/ Marcia / 36 Comments

Good Morning, Everyone.  Thought maybe I’d do another Bold and Blatant Self Promotion post today, featuring A Boy Named Rabbit, the book which introduces the little boy who seems to have become a big favorite with most of my readers. Maybe some of you who haven’t yet met this young man will be intrigued by the small peek into his story, and will decide to check out for yourselves just what makes him so special. Hope you enjoy  today’s excerpt!

Once You Let Rabbit Into Your Heart,
You’ll Never Forget Him!

BLURB

“Evil’s comin’, boy…comin’ fast. Look for the man with eyes like winter skies, and hair like a crow’s wing. He’s the one you gotta find.”

The remote mountain wilderness of North Carolina swallowed up the ten-year-old boy as he made his way down from the primitive camp where his grandparents had kept him hidden all his life. His dying grandmother, gifted with the Sight, set him on a quest to find the Good People, and though he is filled with fear and wary of civilization, Rabbit is determined to keep his promise to her. When he crosses paths with Sarah and MacKenzie Cole, neither their lives nor his, are ever the same again.

The extraordinary little boy called Rabbit has the power to light up the darkness, and the resourcefulness to save himself from the one person his grandparents had hoped would never find him. His dangerous and bittersweet journey will touch you in unexpected ways, and once you’ve let Rabbit into your heart, you’ll never forget him.

EXCERPT

Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Deep in the North Carolina Mountains

The morning birdsong woke Rabbit just before daylight. He had cried himself to sleep on the tent floor, and when he sat up to check, his gran was lying still and pale, her shallow breath the faintest whisper. Not gone yet.

“Gran?” He kept his voice low, wanting to know she was still with him, but sorry to disturb her rest. When she didn’t move, he tried again, louder. “Gran? Are you okay? Please be okay…”

 Her hand shot out and caught his in an iron grip, pulling him close. “Boy? Is that you?”

“Yes. I’m here, Gran.” Her voice was so faint, he had to strain to hear.

 “Evil’s comin’, Boy…comin’ fast. Remember, find the man with…winter blue eyes. He’ll keep you safe… from…bad people. You have to…find him…” The last words slid out of her on a long, rattling sigh, and she went still as stone.

Rabbit had seen death many times, but never the death of a person. And never the death of someone he loved, one of only two faces he’d ever known. He was stricken speechless, too shocked even to cry. Instead, he sat beside the cot, holding her hand until it grew cool, then he roused himself and walked outside.

My gran is gone. She’s gone. And my grampa isn’t coming back, neither. I’m alone now. I gotta be strong. That’s what she said. I gotta be strong, and leave the mountain. I gotta find the good people. Grampa says there ain’t any, but maybe I should believe what Gran said. We can’t be the only ones who ain’t bad. I gotta find the rest. And I gotta hunt for the man with eyes like winter skies and hair like a crow’s wing.

He repeated those words to himself over and over as he gathered up his scant belongings and put them in a battered backpack his grampa had given him years ago. He had fishing line, a simple snare, and an old canteen he filled at the stream. His grampa made fire with a piece of flint and tinder, but his gran had a small metal tin with matches in it. He tucked the tin into his backpack, too, and strapped on his hunting knife.

For an hour or so, he was too busy preparing to leave to think about the enormity of what might lie ahead. He cooked the last of yesterday’s fish for breakfast, washed the small pan, and tied it on top of his backpack. Last, he tied his little bedroll on the bottom of the backpack, and he was done. There was nothing else he could think of to take. With his extra pair of jeans and a flannel shirt squeezed into his pack, he tied the sleeves of his heavy jacket around his waist, and decided he was as ready as he would ever be, to do something he didn’t want to do at all.

After tending to the fire, making sure every ember was doused and cold, he went back into the tent and said goodbye to his gran. “I know you shouldn’t oughta be left like this, but I don’t know what to do with you, Gran. You told me once before, a body goes empty when a person dies, and isn’t much important, but if you’re lookin’ down at me, I promise I’ll try to come back with help, so I don’t have to leave you here forever. You was always good to me, and I know you loved me. I loved you, too, Gran, and I’ll miss you every single day, and even though I don’t know how I can find one man outta a whole world full of them, I promise I’ll try. Thank you for all you done for me.” He tucked the old army blanket around her, and kissed her forehead, blinking back tears.

No time for tears now. I gotta get as far as I can today, before dark. Maybe I’ll cry then.

The little boy called Rabbit walked out of the tent where he’d been raised, picked a direction at random, and headed downhill to the west, hoping he’d find the Good People instead of the Bad, and wondering where he should look for the man with the winter eyes. The rugged wilderness of the North Carolina Mountains swallowed him up in minutes, as though he had never been there at all.

On his own for the first time in his life, Rabbit was only ten years old.

************************

Download on Kindle for Just $3.99
 Available in Print for $13.99

Author Marcia Meara

Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years and four big cats.

When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. She enjoys nature. Really, really enjoys it. All of it! Well, almost all of it, anyway. From birds, to furry critters, to her very favorites, snakes. The exception would be spiders, which she truly loathes, convinced that anything with eight hairy legs is surely up to no good. She does not, however, kill spiders anymore, since she knows they have their place in the world. Besides, her husband now handles her Arachnid Catch and Release Program, and she’s good with that.

Spiders aside, the one thing Marcia would like to tell each of her readers is that it’s never too late to make your dreams come true. If, at the age of 69, she could write and publish a book (and thus fulfill 64 years of longing to do that very thing), you can make your own dreams a reality, too. Go for it! What have you got to lose?

Buy Marcia’s Books Here

Novels
Wake-Robin Ridge: Book 1
A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3
The Light: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 4

Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1
Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2
That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3

Riverbend Spinoff Novellas
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2 – To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3 – Love Hurts

Poetry
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Reach Marcia on Social Media Here:

Blog: The Write Stuff
Facebook
Email: marciameara16@gmail.com

#Bold&BlatantSelfPromo – #Excerpt – #WakeRobinRidge Book1

/ Marcia / 37 Comments

I’ve been thinking about running a few self-promotional posts here and there. Hope you’ll indulge me if I do a bit of marketing for my books, in general, including any sales or other special deals that might be available, too.

Today’s post features the first book I ever wrote, published in 2013. For those who don’t know, the wake-robin is a wine-red trillium which blooms in the North Carolina mountains every spring. It’s always been a favorite of mine, and I knew it would be the name of my fictitious mountain ridge before I even started writing the book.  In addition to the Blurb, I’m sharing an excerpt from the beginning of a very pivotal scene in the story.  Hope you enjoy it!

Wake-Robin Ridge, Where Ghosts Walk, Ancient Legends Abound,
and Things Still go Bump in the Night.

BLURB

“A PHONE RINGING AT 2:00 A.M. never means anything good. Calls at 2:00 A.M. are bad news. Someone has died. Someone is hurt. Or someone needs help.”

On a bitter cold January night in 1965, death came calling at an isolated little cabin on Wake-Robin Ridge. Now, nearly 50 years later, librarian Sarah Gray has quit her job and moved into the same cabin, hoping the peace and quiet of her woodland retreat will allow her to concentrate on writing her first novel. Instead she finds herself distracted by her only neighbor, the enigmatic and reclusive MacKenzie Cole, who lives on top of the mountain with his Irish wolfhound as his sole companion.

As their tentative friendship grows, Sarah learns the truth about the heartbreaking secret causing Mac to hide from the world. But before the two can sort out their feelings for each other, they find themselves plunged into a night of terror neither could have anticipated. Now they must unravel the horrifying events of a murder committed decades earlier. In doing so, they discover that the only thing stronger than a hatred that will not die is a heart willing to sacrifice everything for another.

EXCERPT

I saw the headlights flare across the back wall before I heard the sound of Mac’s truck, and I rose, moving to face the door. My hands were shaking and my stomach was in a knot. He was coming, and I didn’t know if that was a good thing, or a very bad one. I heard the truck door slam, and in seconds he was knocking rapidly on my door.

“Sarah? Sarah, please. Open the door. Please, Sarah?”

I stood with my hand on the knob, debating—a mere two inches of wood between us. Jenna’s joke about him being a serial killer flashed through my mind. Was he dangerous? Drunk? Mentally unstable?

I heard him make a strangled sound on the other side. “Oh, Sarah, I’m so sorry. Please let me in.”

He sounded on the verge of tears. That did it. Whatever the problem was, I couldn’t say no to anyone that unhappy, and certainly not to Mac.

I turned the knob and began to open the door, only to have Mac push his way inside, and pull me roughly against him. He buried his face in my hair, his breath hot against my head. “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry.” He was trembling all over.

I leaned back to look at him, and the misery in his face was shocking. “Oh, Mac,” I whispered. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, he leaned down, and kissed me. Hard. I stood frozen for a moment, then he abruptly let me go, stumbling back with a gasp. He looked almost as shocked as I felt.

“Oh, damn,” he choked out, closing his eyes. I took his hand, which was ice-cold, and pulled him into the warmth of the living room, closing the door behind us.

“Sit down, Mac.” I led him to the couch, and wrapped my afghan around his shoulders. He huddled there, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, and his face buried in his hands. His breathing was ragged, and he seemed to be struggling to gather control of his emotions. When the worst of his shivering eased, he dropped his hands.

Even by the dim light of the fire, I could see he looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot, and had dark circles underneath them. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two, and his hair was tousled every which way.

I felt he wanted to tell me something, but he seemed unable to find the words to begin. When he didn’t look at me again, I knelt down in front of him on the floor. I put my palm on his cheek and turned his face toward me. “Mac? It’s time. You need to tell me.”

“I know,” he said, voice barely audible. “I want to, but it’s so hard, Sarah.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t know how to talk about it. I never have before, not to anyone.” His voice broke, and his eyes shone with unshed tears.

I moved up to sit beside him, and took his hand in mine. “Try. Just try, Mac. I can’t be here for you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

He looked at me, searching for something in my eyes. Reassurance, perhaps. Then he turned back to stare into the fire, drawing courage from the warmth of the flames. I waited.

Mac’s eyes were focused on something far away, and he held my hand in a death grip. Finally, he took another shuddering breath and began to talk, his voice barely above a whisper. “I went to Charlotte to see my son.”

“You have a son?” I asked, after he had been quiet for a long moment.

He started to say something, then stopped. He cleared his throat and tried again, twice, before managing to go on. “Had. I had a son. He died.”

It was obvious just saying the words tore him apart. His pain was like a living presence in the room, and I would have done just about anything to ease it for him; but I thought that this was probably a story he needed to tell in his own way, so I waited. He spoke in such a halting manner, it was easy to believe he had never said any of this out loud.

“Monday was his birthday … he would have been eighteen.” He gave a ragged sigh. “Grown up. I still see him small, laughing … playing in the sandbox with his trucks.” He stopped again.

“I always go on his birthday, but I wasn’t going to this year. I thought I could stay here … be with you … just not think about it, for this one year. I’m good at not thinking about it most of the time. I just pretend everything is all right.” Another long pause. “My life is all about pretending.”

************************

Download on Kindle for Just $1.99
Currently Available in Print for Only $4.36

Author Marcia Meara

Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years and four big cats.

When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. She enjoys nature. Really, really enjoys it. All of it! Well, almost all of it, anyway. From birds, to furry critters, to her very favorites, snakes. The exception would be spiders, which she truly loathes, convinced that anything with eight hairy legs is surely up to no good. She does not, however, kill spiders anymore, since she knows they have their place in the world. Besides, her husband now handles her Arachnid Catch and Release Program, and she’s good with that.

Spiders aside, the one thing Marcia would like to tell each of her readers is that it’s never too late to make your dreams come true. If, at the age of 69, she could write and publish a book (and thus fulfill 64 years of longing to do that very thing), you can make your own dreams a reality, too. Go for it! What have you got to lose?

Buy Marcia’s Books Here

Novels
Wake-Robin Ridge: Book 1
A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3
The Light: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 4

Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1
Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2
That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3

Riverbend Spinoff Novellas
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2 – To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3 – Love Hurts

Poetry
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love

Reach Marcia on Social Media Here:

Blog: The Write Stuff
Facebook
Email: marciameara16@gmail.com

#WIP – #AmWriting (I hope!) – #ColeCole&Dupree

/ Marcia / 37 Comments

Oh, I SO know how he feels! I’ve been dragging around in Subpar Mode for so long, it’s ridiculous. (And to think that at my age, I consider every minute of wasted time to be a cardinal sin!) But the good (or at least better) news is, I am going to fix this problem, one way or the other! 

Yes, yes, Snape! I should be writing and I’m GOING to be writing, because after all, Cole, Cole & Dupree cannot finish itself, now can it? But I wanted to share my earthshattering improved health news here on TWS first. Plus I thought maybe sharing here might get me even more in the mood to move on with this story. I mean, it’s got a lot going for it, I think. From a very strange mystery for CC&D to solve, to Rabbit’s astonishing find of a Fairy Cross (staurolite) on a wooded trail, to the fun (I hope) relationship between Rabbit and his adopted family, including his sort-of adopted big brother, Austin Dupree. 

Oh, fairy crosses, you ask? Well, they look like this, and are a completely natural and totally REAL (though very rare) rock formation, wherein a natural “twinning process” produces these amazing stones in every size. See:

And here’s one more: a precious little miniature one sent to me from my friend in Wales, Trish, alias Alex Craigie. (Thank you again, Trish!)

But putting all that aside, the main reason to post about what I hope will be my return to Cole, Cole, & Dupree is that it gives me an excuse to share an excerpt with you good folks, and perhaps find out if this prologue would make you want to turn the page for the rest of the story.  So without further ado, here you go:

Just Past Midnight in a Frosty Winter Pasture
Sunday, January 11, 2015
~~~

“THOUGHT YOU NEEDED to see this, boss. Called as soon as I found ‘em.”

“You were right to call, Kip. Any idea what the hell happened here?”

“Not a one. Never seen anything like it.”

Alvy Ballard moved his flashlight in a slow arc across the scene in front of him, as he struggled to make sense of all the darkened forms humped along the ground. With a look of dread in his eyes, he turned back to his foreman. “Big Red?”

“Big Red, too, boss. He’s over by the east fence.”

“Show me.”

The two men walked around the fence line, stopping to check each bloody body along the way. Alvy gave a slow, stunned shake of his head. “All dead. Every single one of them dead. What could have done something like this, Kip?”

“I got no idea. Every throat torn out. All ten horses, gone. It ain’t natural.”

When they neared the middle of the east fence line, Kip stopped and laid his hand on Alvy’s arm. “You sure you want to look at him?”

Alvy nodded. “I need to see for myself.”

Kip watched as his boss continued along the fence to where the body of his prize stallion lay. For a moment the big man stood staring in shock, then he dropped to his knees. Draping himself across his horse, Alvy Ballard wept like a child, shoulders shaking with loud, heartbroken sobs.

Kip knew his boss well enough to understand his need for privacy, so he remained where he was until Alvy stood, wiped his eyes, and returned.

“I still don’t understand what happened to them,” Alvy said, his voice husky with emotion.

“Me, neither, boss. For sure, it wasn’t no animal I’ve ever seen. Animals don’t kill ‘less they’re hungry. All them horses are dead, all right, but not a single one’s been eaten on.”

Well, there you have it. I hope you are intrigued and ready to find out what the heck happened in Alvy Ballard’s pasture. And you can rest assured, when the good sheriff Raleigh Wardell shows up to consult with them, Cole, Cole, &  Dupree will be ready to take on this case!

Thanks for reading this morning,
and here’s to a GREAT start to your week!

#This&That&TheOtherThing – #Update – #Excerpt – #TheEmissary2:ToLoveSomebody

/ Marcia / 16 Comments

THIS

Thought I’d take a break from physical labor and let you guys know that my new Time Management Plan is working great, so far. Both of my venues were amenable to having me visit every other month, so that alone cut my presentation workload in half. And I’ve scheduled my regular series posts as far in advance as possible, freeing me up a bit more each week. #GrannySays is now scheduled through the end of December! WooHoo! 

THAT

Speaking of scheduling, just want to let you all know that I’ve still got some dates open for both my #TenThings series, and my #GuestDayTuesday series. If any of you are interested in doing a guest post for either one, here are some upcoming dates you can choose from:

#TenThings: July 6, August 17 and 31, and September 14.
#GuestDayTuesday: July 12 & 26, August 9 & 23, and September 6 & 20

That’s as far ahead as I want to schedule for now. If any of these dates will work for you please email me so I can hold it for you. While I may not be running these quite as often as I was, I still want to keep them going when I can. I love having guests here on TWS, and hope you’ll take advantage of one more opportunity to get your books “out there.”

THE OTHER THING

Just for kicks, I thought maybe I’d share an excerpt with you today from one of my books. I may do this now and then going forward, but not on a strict schedule or anything. Just when the spirit moves me and I have time to do so. Hope you enjoy this one, which is from the second novella in my Emissary series. This scene features the Archangel Azrael putting the first two human Emissaries to the Angels to work with his idea of what rigorous physical training should be. Enjoy! 

The Emissary 2: To Love Somebody

Three Weeks Later, on the Same Swelteringly Hot Deserted Island,
Two Exhausted, Frustrated Emissaries Dreamed of Escape,
While One Ginormous, Cranky Angel Rethought His Entire Career. 

“TWENTY-FIVE MORE and you may take a brief swim break to cool down. Then we will focus on the ground exercises.”

“Push-ups!” Dodger snarled, sweat streaming down his face. “Just call them freakin’ damn push-ups, why don’tcha?”

Jake counted off the last of his jumping jacks then flopped down on the sand, too tired to argue much less walk down to the water’s edge. Dodger dropped right beside him, every bit as exhausted and frustrated. The boy’s chest heaved, and Jake knew exactly how he felt. Time to speak up, perhaps.

“Azrael, we’ve been at this all afternoon. It could be time to call it a day. There’s such a thing as heatstroke, you know.”

“Too late,” Dodger muttered. “Already there. My blood is boilin’, and my eyeballs are melting.”

The angel snorted in disgust.

But Dodger wasn’t done with Azrael. “This is crazy. Why do we have to exercise like this, anyway? Our job is mostly mental stuff, but you’ve got us on a workout schedule elite military units couldn’t keep up with. I don’t get it, man.”

“I find it difficult to believe we are about to have this same conversation, yet again, but fine. If that is how you wish to spend your break, instead of cooling off in the ocean, I shall do my part. A strong body and a strong mind go hand in hand. It is my belief that both mental and physical training will enhance and strengthen your ability to do your job as emissaries. Do I need to keep saying this?”

Jake sat up, raising his hands over his head in surrender. “Peace, Azrael. Come on, Dodge. Let’s go cool off before he changes his mind.”

They slogged across the wet shingle and waded out just far enough to be able to sit shoulder-deep in the calm, green water.

“We’re gonna die here on this island, you know,” Dodger muttered.

“You do remember he can hear us, don’t you?”

“Let him listen. I don’t really care anymore.” He paused, then yelled out, “You hear that, Azrael. I don’t care! I’m two steps away from dead, here, thanks to you.”

Jake thought about reminding Dodger he couldn’t die, but then figured the boy might decide continuing to live in these conditions would be even worse—and he might be right.

“Okay, kid. I’ll talk to him. Even with the extra strength we’ve been given as emissaries, we have limits, and it’s probably time to ease back a little.”

He spent a few minutes going over how to approach Azrael, then they headed back across the sand. The angel was nowhere to be seen.

Shocked, they stood under the palms looking this way and that. Surely, they hadn’t made the angel angry enough for him to abandon them in this remote spot? Had they? The only food and shelter they had was what Azrael had been providing. Hell, they could be in another dimension, for all they knew! Alone, they really might die here.

Dodger was visibly shaken, chewing on his bottom lip as he studied the shoreline in each direction, and Jake could offer no reassurances. He hadn’t a clue what they should do, other than wait. Just when he began to think maybe Azrael really had abandoned them to their fate, a voice behind him said, “Looking for me?”

Fighting mad, Jake whirled around, only to see the angel standing beside an elegant dining table set for three. A white and gold tablecloth, china, sparkling stemware, and silver serving dishes from which mouth-watering aromas rose, awaited them. He gaped in complete silence, and amazingly, so did Dodger.

“If you two are ready to cease hostilities, I am ready to admit I may have been pushing you somewhat harder than necessary. My intention was to enable you to become the best you could be, but it is possible I overdid it a bit. I am aware that at least one of you has a very high regard for food and hope this meal will prove I have not been trying to kill you. Please accept this as my peace offering.”

He paused, waiting for their reactions, and Dodger rewarded him with half a smile. “Well, it’s a good start, anyway.”

“Smells like a delicious start to me,” Jake added.

Azrael pulled out their chairs. “Come. Let us enjoy our food. We have much to discuss about what you’ll be doing next.”

Dodger stopped. “Next as in what kind of torture you’re plannin’ to put us through tomorrow?”

“Next as in I think it is possible your first round of training might be complete.”

Jake grinned and punched Dodger in the arm. “Hear that, kid? We made it through this grueling process and have survived to tell the tale.”

Dodger balked. “I heard the words ‘possible’ and ‘might’ in that sentence. Did we finish, or didn’t we?”

Azrael’s face grew serious. “You have completed this portion of your training, though there may be more to come at a later date, if needed. And you surpassed all of my expectations, by the way, which were quite high. I am proud of you both, and I am also amazed it took you until today to mount a serious rebellion. Now, I hope you will join me in a celebratory dinner. You have earned it.”

They ate a meal 5-star restaurants could only dream about serving, then toasted the sun as it slid down behind the emerald waves. For the first time in nearly two weeks, their conversation was peaceful and relaxed. It consisted of things that didn’t involve sweaty workouts under the hot sun, nor laborious mental exercises focused on helping them control their ever-expanding powers. And it was exactly what they needed.

The meal ended with a dessert so chocolatey and decadent, it nearly made Dodger swoon, then Azrael waved his hand, and voila! Dishes, glassware, leftover food, tablecloth, table, and even the chairs disappeared in a blink.

“Handy trick,” Dodger observed.

Azrael simply smiled, and Jake marveled once again at the healing power behind that gentle, pleased expression. They were, indeed, blessed—even before Azrael whisked them back to where they’d left their truck, delivered a quiet benediction over them, then rose into the starry heavens.

They stared into the night sky for some time after the angel’s departure, silent, until Dodger’s soft comment. “Sometimes I forget what a wonderful and holy miracle he is.”

The night breeze carried the gentlest whisper of a reply. “I love you, too, Dodger.”

Jake put his arm around his boy’s shoulder and they climbed into the back of their big semi, crawled into their bunks, then drifted off to sleep. In the morning, they’d be ready to hit the road again, better prepared than ever to help those who needed them.

You can download The Emissary series here:
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2: To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3: Love Hurts

And that’s it for today’s update. Hope you enjoyed the excerpt,
and please email me if you want to set up a guest visit between now and September.
Have a great afternoon!