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A Time to Mourn and A Time to Dance

June – Taming of a Shrew – Auditions

“Marry you?” she screeched. “Are you crazy?”

Peter gazed at the shapely woman standing before him. Blue fire burned deep in her wide-set eyes. “I assure you, Kit, I am quite sane. I want you to be my wife.”

“No!”

“No? NO?” he barked.

Her voice shifted from alto to a high soprano as she spoke. “Heck, no! Heavens, no! Absolutely, positively, unequivocally no!”

Dark brows arched over his chocolate-brown eyes and a smirk curved his mouth. “Unequivocally?”

“NO, by any other name is still NO!”

Peter shook his head as if each 'No' she'd spat at him was an adamant declaration of her love and everlasting devotion. He stepped closer.

She jumped back. “I refuse to spend my life chained to a domineering male.”

“But Kit, I've already spoken to your father. It's all arranged.”

She slammed her fists on her hips, bent forward and hissed. “Talked with Daddy Dear, have you? And just how much did my sweet old man offer to pay you to take his eldest daughter off his hands?”

Peter laughed. “Are you saying a man must be paid to marry you? You do yourself an injustice.”

“Ha. It's not I who commit injustice, but men like you. And my father.” She pointed one, long, slender digit to the nether regions. “Go! Get out and leave me alone.”

“Well, Kit, it's like this. Your father and I have come to an agreement. We've made a deal – signed and sealed. My plans are made and set in place.”

“Erase the sign, unseal the deal and unmake your plans, or find some rich, witless wimp of a woman to marry you. That's what you want anyway.”

Peter daringly ran a finger down her soft, pink cheek.

Kit batted his hand away and glared fiercely at him.

He ground his molars – the woman was a termagant. Remember her Daddy's money. Forcing his mouth into an adoring smile, he gazed at her as if he'd found treasure beyond measure. “No, my Kit, I want you – beautiful, sweet spoken, gentle. And...submissive,” he growled.

Kit threw back her head and laughed, unaware of how tempting she looked with her long hair flowing to her waist and the white column of her throat glistening like polished marble. “Well, I don't want you, regardless of how tall and handsome you are.”

A full-bodied laugh erupted from deep inside his broad chest. “So, you find me handsome, do you?”

“Looks are totally irrelevant. Hunk or not, I don't need a man.”

Peter heaved a frustrated breath. He wanted to shake her until she acquiesced, but had a feeling such actions would be a huge mistake. Showing anger and impatience would probably spur on her resistance. With incredible control, he gently wrapped his big hands around her upper arms. Surprised at the lean muscles flexing under baby-soft skin, he turned her to face him.

She fought to pull away.

“You need ME, Kit. You require a strong man, one that won't let you lead him around like a pet poodle. You need a man who will make you feel like a...woman.”

“Peter, take your hands off of me this instant, or you will find I am woman enough to make you regret it.”

Relaxing his grip, Peter let his fingers trail sensuously down her smooth arms. “I think not, my sweet.”

SMACK

Peter jerked back. His cheek stung and all signs of patience fled. Taken totally off guard, he hadn't seen the blow coming. He glowered at the dainty warrior who'd had the gall to physically attack him. He held onto the last vestiges of his control by a Herculean effort. “I can't believe you did that.”

Kit's chin lifted in rebellion. “Believe it! I don't spout idle threats.”

Peter leaned down and growled through gritted teeth.“Woman, if you slap me again, I shall return it in kind. And you can believe me...I, too, issue no idle threats.” He delighted in the battle he could see raging in the beautiful blue eyes of the woman he fully intended to marry. The feminine mind was a scary thing, but sensing his ultimate victory, he allowed a smile to curve his mouth. Victory was sweet.

SMACK

Shock triggered his response and he automatically raised his hand.

“That's right, big strong man. Go ahead. Hit the little woman, the weaker vessel. Let the whole world know that you're no gentleman.”

Peter reared back at the taunting voice. Then like the strike of a snake, he cupped Kit's face between his hands and lowered his lips to hers. There was more than one way to tame a shrew.

Silence was quickly followed by clapping.

“Bravo! Bravo. I believe we have found our Katharina and Petruchio,” shouted Janice, the theatrical director.

Applause broke through Gabriel Winston Churchill's focus and he suddenly realized he still held a struggling woman in his arms, his lips devouring hers. Hmmm. This might turn out to be his favorite play.

A dainty foot housed in camo boots suddenly slammed into his shin.

He flinched. “Ouch!”

“The audition is over, P.E.T.E.R. Can the he-man stuff.”

Oops! He might be dazzled by enormous blue eyes, but evidently the lady wasn't as enamored of his dirt-brown orbs. She too closely resembled Shakespeare's Kate – bossy and definitely not interested.

“Okay, people. Please take a seat in the first two rows,” yelled Janice.

Gabe started to exit the stage when Janice Coggins, the blond-haired, forty-something director, grabbed his arm.

“Wait, Gabe. I'd like you and Lori to stay here for a minute, please.”

At six feet four inches, Gabe Churchill towered over the diminutive director, giving him a clear view of the tall, slender beauty on Janice's other side. A view he could get used to all too easily. Suddenly realizing he was missing half of what Janice was saying, he dragged his attention back to her words.

“As you all know, we are writing our own modern-day version of The Taming of the Shrew. Instead of the customary auditions, we've tried a new approach to casting our play. Each of you committed to familiarizing yourself with Shakespeare's play, then you selected a part you liked and ad-libbed the lines.”

Laughter rumbled around the theater.

“Yes, auditions have been unique and very entertaining. I'll now let you in on a little secret – my sweet husband got every laugh, grimace, flubbed word, smack and kisssss on video.”

Gabe groaned along with the rest of the company. “How much for the original, Jerry?” he yelled.

A voice from the back called out. “More than you make, professor.”

Cat-calls and teasing quips filled the air.

Janice turned to the newcomer at her side and nodded. A whistle, more piercing than a smoke alarm, cut through the noise, bringing immediate silence.

Janice laughed. “Thanks, Lori. You've got to teach me how to whistle like that. I've struggled for years to find a way to quiet this rowdy bunch.”

Gabe's breath caught in his throat as a smile of earthshaking impact curved Lori's soft lips – lips he had recently kissed. He wouldn't mind running through that scene again...though his cheek did sting a bit.

Janice raised her hand. “Now, let me introduce to you the main characters of our production. You all know Gabriel Churchill, my assistant director and the favorite history professor of every student at NASU. Gabe will be playing the part of Petruchio or Peter.”

Gabe bowed and generally hammed it up for the cast, then spoke in a voice that carried across the hundreds of seats and rebounded to the stage. “And, what is The Taming of the Shrew without – a shrew?”

Gabe stepped to Lori's side. Then he and Janice dramatically swung their arms out to bracket the young woman in the middle.

Gabe smiled and his baritone pealed as a clarion across a mountain valley. “I'd like to introduce you to Shakespeare's Kate, Lorilee Talbot. Lori is new to our fair city and will be teaching some of your kindergärtners this fall. Be careful what you say and do at home, friends, or those little five-year-old thespians will share all with Lori at Show and Tell. Now, let's make her feel welcome.”

The rest of the cast and crew swarmed the stage, laughing, teasing and pulling Lori into their tight-knit group. Gabe noticed no residual signs of her “shrew” persona. It had totally faded away. She bubbled with friendliness and joy, her pretty face never losing its smile. She would have no trouble fitting in at FLiT...Flagstaff Little Theatre.

Janice slipped backstage then reappeared pulling a rolling cart loaded with snacks, soft drinks and bottles of water. “Party time. Come help yourselves.”

Gabe grabbed a bottled water and began making the rounds, congratulating each person on his or her performance and encouraging them to keep working on bringing their parts into the present time period.

This play would present some very unique challenges, but it should be great fun. It would be a perfect vehicle to stimulate individual creativity.

Listening in on a discussion about set designs, Gabe spied his roommate across the stage. He excused himself and stepped back, intending to circle around the group and go catch up with his friend. A muffled yelp brought him up short. He turned just in time to see Lori stumble backward. Her wind-milling arms corrected her balance but the bottle of water, loosely clasped in one hand, went flying over her shoulder and off toward the wings.

“Oh, man, Lori! I'm sorry. Are you okay?”

She looked up at him and Gabe saw her smile falter.

“Didn't mean to tromp all over you. I didn't see you.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course I didn't see you – you were behind me. And though my students claim I have eyes in the back of my head, that phenomenon only works in the classroom.”

Her smile returned, accompanied by a soft chuckle. “I, too, have been accused of having the power to see anything happening in a 360° circle.”

“God must have gifted teachers with that special talent.” Gabe decided he could stand and soak in Lori's smile for hours on end. Then he noticed her massaging her elbow. “Say, I didn't hurt you, did I?”

He sent a glance from the top of her glossy, auburn head to the toes of her trendy combat boots and didn't see any obvious damage. At the sight of her footwear, his shin throbbed with remembered pain. That pain reminded him of his stinging cheek. He grinned down at her and rubbed his jaw. “You pack quite a wallop.”

“You're no slouch, yourself,” she said, putting her fingers to her lips.

Gabe saw the pink stain of embarrassment paint her creamy complexion the instant she realized the inference of her statement.

Satisfaction puffed up his male ego like hearty breaths filling a birthday balloon. “'We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out.'”

“What?”

Gabe couldn't stop his grin. She was so cute, even with embarrassment and confusion dancing across her pretty face. “Churchill.”

“Churchill? You're Churchill, but what does your name have to do with anything.”

Gabe dramatically grabbed his chest and groaned. “Woman, you wound me. After the Bible, Winston Churchill is the greatest purveyor of wisdom and truth.”

A big hand slammed onto Gabe's shoulder as a blond, bearded face peered around him. “Don't worry, Lori, he's crazy but not certifiably so. Harmless, really. You must remember the name says it all – Gabriel Winston Churchill.”

Understanding slowly crept across her face and her smooth soprano slipped up an octave. “Ohhhhh.”

Mark continued his commentary on Gabe's quirky character. “Gabriel, the angel, is a trumpet blower. Our Gabriel blows the trumpet for Winston Churchill.”

Gabe planted a mock punch on his friend's bulging bicep. “Lori, meet Mark Worth. His only claim to fame is he's one of my housemates. He's lesser known for owning and operating For All You're Worth.”

A smile lit Lori's face. “The health club?”

Mark elbowed Gabe in the ribs and puffed out his chest. “That's me. Owner and number one trainer. Come in sometime and I'll give you a free tour and assessment.”

A pretty blond slipped in front of Mark and slapped both hands against his chest. “Down, boy. Down!”

Gabe burst out laughing then leaned over to buzz the cheek of the new arrival. “Keep him on a tight rein, Brittany.”

“Don't egg her on, buddy. She's got me wrapped around her little finger as it is.” Mark bent down to slide a quick kiss onto Brittany's smiling mouth. “I'm just trying to drum up business, honey.”

“Keep it that way, schweethawt, or you'll be swimming in concrete galoshes.” Brittany's feminine version of Humphrey Bogart sent them into gales of laughter.

Gabe loved the musical sound of Lori's laugh and enjoyed watching her expressive face as she took in the interaction between Brittany and Mark. He sympathized with any confusion she might feel. He was accustomed to the wild bantering of his two friends, yet at times, it was a struggle to discern the difference between their fussing and their teasing. Both were excellent actors and horseplay was part and parcel of their relationship.

“Lori, this is Brittany George, Mark's fiancée. She's also going to play Bianca to his Lucentio.” Turning to the couple at his side, Gabe asked, “What names have you picked for the play?”

“Bea.”

“Luke.”

“Very original.” Sarcasm oozed from his words even as a smile curved his mouth. “I'm really looking forward to this production. However, I already foresee a problem.”

“What's that?”

“Staying in sync with modern-day times. I don't know about you, but I find my mind reverting to Shakespearean words and style of speech.”

“Yeah, that will be a problem,” said Mark.

Gabe shook his head. “You'd think it would be easier to speak the way we do every day, but for some reason, it's not.”

Lori nodded in agreement. “The fact that the play is so well known to us in its original form, will be both a help and a hindrance.”

Brittany looped her arm through Mark's. “I agree. It has always been more difficult for me to learn a new arrangement of an old song than to learn a piece I've never heard before.”

“That's for sure. I have the same problem.”

Brittany waved a hand in the air. “But, don't worry, guys, we girls will keep you in character; won't we Lori?”

Gabe's breath stalled in his chest as a mischievous smile suddenly lit Lori's face and her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. Whoa! Help me, Lord.

Lori spoke in a solemn voice. “'Difficulties mastered are opportunities won.'”

A huge smile split Gabe's face, slicing from ear to ear. “Well said, Lori. Well said.” Lord, she must be meant for me. She quotes Churchill.

*****

Lori Talbot looked at the faces grinning at her in amazement. Oops! Why had she done that? Why had she thrown out the ONLY Churchill quote she knew? Now they'd expect her to do it again, when, in actuality, she was more likely to spout Dr. Seuss, Winnie the Pooh or any number of animated movie characters. Famous historical world leaders didn't figure into her kindergarten lesson plans all that often.

Maybe she should look up a few Churchill quotes and memorize them. She could save them in hopes an appropriate opportunity would come along when she could nonchalantly pitch them into a conversation. Kind of like picking a word from the dictionary and using it in five sentences on any given day – then claiming it as your own.

At five feet eight inches tall she was hardly petite, but she still had to tip her gaze up to meet Gabe's. He was sporting a somewhat stupefied expression, while grinning at her as if he'd discovered the eighth wonder of the world. She had to confess...and now. This scenario reminded her too much of her graduation trip to Italy. She'd confidently rattled off one of a half-dozen Italian phrases she'd practiced, then ended up trying to explain to the carabinieri, the Italian police, that she wasn't really planning to rob the bank. She'd simply mutilated the Italian language and misspoken a few words. Innocent mistake. Yeah, but, it had led to trouble...big, embarrassing trouble.

It was time to own up to her limitations. The people around her weren't the police, but they would be – she hoped – friends, good friends.

Why be worried? She was comfortable in her skin. She liked how God had wired her and was usually quite confident. However, being the “newbie” resurrected a certain amount of earlier insecurities.

She had no reason to think this group of thespians would find her lacking. They seemed friendly and welcoming. Now it was her turn to be up front and honest. Give them a chance to like her as she was – as God had designed her.

“True confession time.” Lori sent a pleading grin at Brittany, then Mark and finally to Gabe. “I confess, you just heard my one and only Churchill quote.”

Indrawn breaths preceded a long silence. Had she blown it? Had she totally misread these new acquaintances?

“Praise the Lord!” Mark suddenly chuckled and slapped Gabe on the back. “There is room in this town for only one Churchill-quoting fanatic.” He tucked Brittany under his arm.

“We're convinced that Gabe was born with a thorough knowledge of the famous statesman's words. He's probably a long lost relative, many times removed.”

The engaged couple smiled at Lori, then gazed at one another with adoration.

A tiny green spear of jealousy poked Lori. Lord, someday, please. How she'd love to have a man look at her the way Mark gazed at Brittany. Send me a special man. Your pick, not mine.

Mark and Brittany soon strolled off to join another noisy group, leaving Lori with Gabe.

Alone.

She heaved a resigned sigh and lifted her gaze from the floor way up to his dark-chocolate-brown eyes. For some reason, the guy short-circuited her brain which in turn misfired every synapse in her body.

Since first laying eyes on the man, she had been acting crazy. She felt like a badly illustrated cartoon or a cheap carnival toy – stumbling and bumbling and fumbling. Tonight she'd stumbled over her own feet as she'd approached center-stage to begin her audition. Then she'd bumbled her one prop. And, she'd fumbled her lines. Thank goodness everyone had been ad-libbing so dropping or adding a line wasn't an issue.

Looking back, she was amazed that she'd managed to carry off the audition at all. Snagging the part of Katarina was an added bonus, and playing opposite Gabe? Well, that sent tingling vibes zipping along every nerve in her body. A grin she couldn't hold back blossomed on her face.

“So, you're not a fan of Churchill?” Gabe sounded like a little boy whose best friend had just said his new puppy was “dumb and ugly.”

“Gabe, to be perfectly honest, my knowledge of the great statesman is extremely limited. I'm more familiar with kiddy-characters. If I quote someone it will most likely be a character from Land Before Time or Mulan, Little Mermaid, Toy Story, Enchanted, Frozen. Understand?”

“No. I can't say I do, but hey, you're forgiven if I am. We all have our niches, our areas of expertise. God didn't make carbon-copies.”

“You're right. Thanks for being so gracious.”

“I'm all for furthering education. I'd be happy to exchange some tutorial time with you. I'll teach you about Churchill and you teach me...what? Fairy-tales?”

Excitement zipped along Lori's nerves. Gabe was flirting with her and she loved it. “Not simply fairy-tales. As a child, you probably read all the same stories I did. As an adult and in my line of work as a kindergarten teacher, I've developed a taste for animated movies. The new ones are so well scripted that they appeal on multiple levels. Both young and old and in-between find them entertaining, and the music is extraordinary.”

“I believe the last animated movie I saw was Cinderella. Is that what you mean?”

“Not exactly. That's just the beginning. I think you have a long way to go in your education, Mr. Churchill.”

With a cheesy grin, Gabe stuck out his hand. “I'm ready to sign up for tutorials, Miss Talbot. Lead on. I must warn you, however, it will probably take a long time to bring me up to scratch.”

Lori shook Gabe's hand, her whole body tingling at his touch. “Then fasten your seat belt; you're in for an exciting journey. I'll take you 'to infinity and beyond'.” Now who's flirting – and enjoying it?

“Whoa! I can hardly wait. This sounds like a real trip.”

“We'll need to watch a lot of movies,” said Lori with a hint of question in her voice.

Gabe arched both brows and twirled an imaginary mustache in a perfect Snidely Whiplash impersonation. “We shall snuggle many hours in the dark theater. Wonderful.”

Lori couldn't help but laugh. “Good try, but a change in venue is mandatory. How about you provide the drinks and I'll provide the couch, popcorn and the DVD?”

“Lovely lady, I am yours. Take me to...where is it you offered to take me?” Gabe held up his hand. “Wait, wait, don't tell me.” He rolled his eyes as if in ecstasy. “To infinity and beyond! Yes?”

Their laughter joined in harmony.

“Say, do you know how to paint and roller-blade?” asked Gabe.

“Paint and roller-blade?” Talk about a fast conversational switch. How had they segued from ignorance to tutoring to painting and skating?

“Next week, Saturday morning, a group of us are going to paint a house for Habitat For Humanity. Then we'll grab lunch and go roller-blading. Game?”

“Game?”

Gabe chuckled and shook his head. “I'm a little rusty in the dating arena. Sorry. Let me start again. Will you go with me Saturday on a work-n-play-date?”

Lori grinned and her heartbeat quickened. Gabe had asked her on a date – a group date – which she preferred when meeting a new guy. “Now, play-date is a word I understand; it's a regular in my vocabulary. My kindergärtners have lots of play-dates.”

“Wonderful. So...will you go? With me?”

Shyness suddenly overwhelmed her and she ducked her head. “That would be great.” She hoped she didn't sound like a giggly freshman conversing with the senior captain of the football team. Grow up, girl. Act your age.

“I have your address from the paperwork you filled out for the theater group and I can swing by and pick you up. Will 8:30 in the morning be too early?”

Cutting another quick glance at Gabe, Lori wondered at his appeal. What was the attraction? Sure, he was good looking, very handsome, in fact, but in the past she'd taught and acted with some gorgeous guys.

No, it wasn't simply appearance.

She looked at his close-cropped dark hair and the five-o'clock shadow enhancing his square jaw. One dimple winked in his chin when he laughed, and he seemed to laugh a lot. Each time that deep rumble raised goosebumps on her arms. But, there was something more. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on – a hidden element, not yet revealed.

He drew her.

She'd felt an instant connection when they'd met – like God had tied a string from Gabe's heart to hers. Strange.

Lord, guide me. Protect my heart and don't let me run ahead of you.

Buy Now

Arizona Redemption - Short Preview

It's time for another look at the inside of one of my books. Below is a look into one of my most popular stories, Arizona Redemption.

 

Arizona Redemption

Copyright (c) 2011 by SQ Eads

 

Victoria Stilman skillfully steered the shiny, new SUV around yet another curve. She shifted into a lower gear as the grade of the narrow, mountainous road continued its steep decline. The thunderous roar of an oncoming truck overpowered the heavy pounding of quarter-sized raindrops against the windshield.

"Oh, Tori, look. It's gorgeous." Tori's older sister, Bonnie, bounced and twisted like a three-year-old, exhibiting the most excitement she'd shown on the entire trip.

"Bonnie, I can't look now." Her curt exclamation was in direct contrast to Bonnie's soft, awed tones, and her harsh words slipped from her mouth in perfect sync with the right-hand tires dropping off the scallop-edged pavement. Tori white-knuckled the steering wheel, gritting her teeth at the clunk and ping of rocks flying up against the undercarriage. Please, please don't chip the paint. Mumbling a few derogatory words about drivers who insisted on taking their half out of the middle, she carefully pulled back onto the road. Who says all the crazy drivers are in California? Someone shipped the worst of the worst to this little, nothing town in Arizona. I'd like to run them off this sorry excuse for a road.

As if determined to prove her criticism unjust, the road widened, its surface now glassy- smooth and even. It continued to curve more gently, winding through a canyon littered with houses of every size, shape and color imaginable.

Tori tapped the brakes of the heavy vehicle and traded her grimace for a grin as Bonnie's head swung from right to left – her pointer finger tracking her gaze – the occasional ooh and ah, accompaniment to her animation.

The buildings appeared haphazardly stacked one upon the other, reminding her of a child’s set of building blocks. Some looked as if they'd been chiseled from the gray stone itself, while others clung to patches of red dirt. Narrow, curving roads zigzagged and intersected, connecting the hodgepodge of buildings like the fancy stitching on a crazy quilt. Steps of stone and stairs of weathered wood added further texture to the living tapestry.

"Tori? I'm praying we can stay here. It feels...nice." Bonnie's breathless words stabbed Tori like a knife blade.

“Me, too, Tori,” came the raspy comment from nine-year-old Carla in the back seat. A deep, wracking cough followed the brief statement.

Fingers of fear traced a path up Tori’s spine – again. Carla’s cough wasn’t improving and they had spent the last of their money on an emergency room visit and prescription medicine. So much for doctors and their guarantees. Bunch of quacks.

Trying not to sound as grumpy as she felt, she struggled to interject a note of gaiety in her voice. “Hey, you two, we’ve just hit town. We don’t even know what the place is like, or if I'll be able to find work.”

“Okay, Tori…whatever you think. But I'll keep praying,” said Bonnie.

Tori cringed. Bonnie never argued anymore, never insisted on her way, hardly ever really expressed an opinion. Tori almost wished she would. The two of them used to bicker. Bonnie, the oldest, wanted to be the boss, and Tori, the rebel, refused to take orders from anyone. However, since Bonnie had been assaulted, she'd withdrawn. She was like a piece of delicate crystal ready to shatter at the first hint of rough handling.

Tori tried to be gentle, but it was difficult. She was in charge now, making every decision, large and small, and surprise, surprise – she didn't find it as satisfying as she once thought it would be. The control she once coveted hung around her neck like a millstone. What she wouldn't give for just a wee bit of sass from her too-fragile, older sister.

Tori hated the fear and uncertainty that permeated her sister's voice. She hated herself for her part in thrusting more hurt and insecurity into the life of one who'd worn the cloak of those torments far too long. Bonnie deserved happiness, peace and security. And poor Carla. That little scrap of humanity didn’t even know what those words meant.

Tori determined anew to provide her sister and her ward with joy and hope, regardless of the cost to herself. Yeah, you did a great job the last time you tried to fix everything. That's why you're here. Why you're on the run.

Desperate to stop the piercing darts of accusation from penetrating the target around her heart, Tori eased to the curb and shut off the engine. “The downpour has lessened. Maybe we can stretch our legs.”

She infused her voice with all the confidence at her disposal as Bonnie and Carla fished under the seats for the shoes they’d kicked off after their last stop. “We'll make it. We'll find a new life and be happy. I promise. We are setting out on a great adventure."

She reached for her sister's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Looking into Bonnie's blue eyes filled with trust, Tori found it hard to believe that the petite blond facing her was three years older than her own twenty-eight years. We're not really old – not exactly spring chicks either. The question is...what do we have to show for the years we've lived? If we were vehicles, they'd describe us as showing too much wear and tear, having been driven too hard, and involved in a few too many fender benders. So,if fate will give us a break this time, we'll prove we've still got plenty of good miles left in us.

The gentle rain stopped completely, like a giant hand turned off a faucet. They climbed from the vivid, canary-yellow Toyota Sequoia that Carla had dubbed Big Bird. As Tori carefully inspected its shiny finish for any damage, Bonnie and Carla found a shady refuge from the bright, May sun that burst through the fluffy, white clouds. Tori had never seen anything like it – drenching rain one minute and blinding sun the next. In San Diego the heat and moisture simply mixed together.

One final pass around the SUV and Tori was satisfied that the vehicle – their only asset – had sustained no chips or dents. She tugged her Arizona Diamondback baseball cap further down her forehead and leaned against the concrete wall next to Bonnie. They stood for several minutes in silence, taking in the three-dimensional tapestry before them. The mountain community was awash with color. Soft, earth tones were pierced and broken by lances and blobs of pastel color. Then a vivid splash of red, blue or green – even purple – that stood out in sharp contrast, would grab the eye.

“What do you think, Bonnie? Is this an artist’s dream or his worst nightmare?” Tori laughed.

“I like that lavender one.” Carla coughed. She couldn't string ten words together without falling victim to chest-rattling coughs. The little blond pointed out a small house tucked amongst several green trees. “It reminds me of an Easter egg.” (cough)

Tori’s companions continued to point out their “favorites.” Their soft conversation, the turquoise sky studded with white, fluffy clouds and the moist, warm air finally penetrated the tension holding Tori's body in its grip. Like gentle fingers untangling a skein of yarn, the knots of anger, guilt, fear, uncertainty and jaw-clenching determination slowly unraveled, leaving a thread of peace tickling her heart and mind. She desperately grasped at the tiny tendril of tranquility, aching for it to take hold and entwine her whole being in its protective net. It's been so long. Peace and tranquility haven't even been in my dictionary since – since forever. And certainly since I decided I could FIX everything so life would be great. Once I scratched my name on that piece of paper and said “I do!” things went straight to h--oops--downhill. She'd promised Bonnie she'd clean up her language – even in her thoughts.

Memories swamped her. Tears welled in her tired eyes, but with a determined effort she held back the overflow. I did care about you, Ricky, maybe not like I should have, but…I'm sorry. Probably, the only halfway smart thing I’ve done lately was to sneak out of the hospital, load Bonnie, Carla and all our meager possessions into the car and head east. Sucking in a deep breath, Tori reminded herself to stop thinking about the past, and concentrate on the future.

She swung her gaze to the left, skimming the hilltop where a white puff of cloud wrapped itself around a pale pink house as if to soothe and protect it from harm. Perhaps this small mountain town, uniquely beautiful, would provide sanctuary for her and her family. It was her job to care for Bonnie and Carla. Perhaps here they would find healing and rest – maybe even hope for the future.

****

“M & M Construction.” Lance Manning jerked the phone from his head as loud laughter crackled over the line and assaulted his eardrums like a gorilla playing the tympani.

“I thought maybe Kate had come down with the croup when I heard that deep voice of yours.”

“Yeah, right.” Lance chuckled. He dropped the receiver into place and switched on the speaker. It was easier on one’s hearing when talking to Chief of Police, Ron Kerwood. Too much time spent at the practice range without proper protective devices had significantly lessened Ron’s hearing. Hence, he assumed everyone in the world was half deaf, and he spoke at a glass-shattering volume.

Lance went back to doodling on the back of an old invoice. Just as a slashed “Z” had been the signature for the appearance of the legendary Zorro, so cartoons and caricatures scribbled on any blank surface were a sure sign that Lance had been there.

He felt rather ridiculous, sitting in the empty office yelling at the telephone but better that than to end up with damaged eardrums. “Kate had to take Shelly to the doctor for her two-year-old check-up. Logan’s out loading sand. So, good old Uncle Lance gets to play secretary.”

Another laugh thundered through the receiver and reverberated around the room.

Picturing his childhood friend in his customary pose – that of defying gravity by tilting his chair to a forty-five degree angle – Lance unconsciously sketched a giant of a man, his muscular bulk spilling forth over a tiny chair.

“Hey, how’s the new chair holding up?” asked Lance. He continued to fill in details in his drawing as he listened to Ron’s commentary on the super-sturdy office chair he’d recently received from the police department for fifteen years of dedicated service.

Lance's fingers flew and a shiny star took shape on the massive chest of his caricature. Then with a flourish, several bold black lines around the man's middle grew into a gun belt with an over-sized pistol, handcuffs, and various other paraphernalia. Lance cocked his head and added a few extra touches to his cartoon character.

“So, what’s going down, Chief?”

“Oops, almost forgot. Actually one of your trucks might be going down.”

Lance dropped his pen and snatched up the receiver. “What do you mean, one of my trucks might be going down?”

“That young fellow you just hired has your new dump truck hanging ten off the embankment above Castle Rock.”

Lance shoved away from the desk. “Man, why didn’t you say so?” Dropping the receiver into place, he didn’t wait for Ron to answer. He slipped mirrored sunglasses from his head to his nose, snatched a worn blue cap from a hook on the wall, and snugged it down over his unruly, blond hair.

Shooting out the door, he crashed toe to toe, shoulder to shoulder with his twin brother, Logan. It was a little like smashing into one's reflection in a mirror. Thick, blond hair bleached by the Arizona sun and struggling to escape the confines of blue ball caps, topped both six-foot-two frames. Sky blue eyes locked gazes as the brothers reached out muscular arms to steady one another. Denim jeans and work shirts covered broad shoulders and long legs, unwittingly enhancing the impression of casual strength and power.

"Ted's in trouble with that delivery in Old Bisbee. Ron called and said something about his “hanging ten” over the embankment. You know Ron and his surfing terms. Anyway, I’ve got this horrible mental picture in my mind. I’m on my way to check it out. Pray!”

He hopped into his blue Ford truck with the M&M Construction logo on the side, scattering gravel as he turned and headed toward the main road. Lance knew his telling Logan to pray was unnecessary. Logan took seriously God’s command to pray without ceasing and would simply add this situation to his ongoing communication with the Lord. His brother’s prayers on his behalf had been critical in getting him through the toughest of trials. Lord, help me to be more like Logan – on the inside. Lance thought about how truly identical he and Logan were physically, but he often found himself envying his brother’s steadfast faith. Help me turn to You first in every situation, and to keep the line open all the time. I still have a bad habit of depending on my own strength, leaning on “the arm of the flesh,” before coming to You. Teach me, Lord!

****

"Tori, look!" The timbre of Bonnie's voice shifting from awe to fearful uncertainty snatched Tori's attention.

Bonnie pointed down the road at a growing crowd of people.

"Can you see what they're all gawking at?" asked Tori.

"Not really, but it must be trouble." As was her current habit when faced with difficulty, Bonnie threw up a protective wall, blocking out the potential trauma, and quickly switched to a more pleasant topic. "I've been paying more attention to those three little kids playing in that huge ditch across the road." A smile colored Bonnie's voice now.

Tori turned her gaze to the three leaping, running, sliding munchkins. Their wild antics rivaled the action of any good swashbuckler. The would-be pirates were carting their box of captured treasure from their cardboard ship, which they'd left anchored in a large puddle. They were making their way to a small, dark hole in the hillside, probably intent upon burying their stolen goods.

Tori laughed at their imaginative play, then shifted her eyes once again to the still growing mass of people. "Let's join the lookie-loos." Pulling her dark glasses from the brim of her hat and sliding them into place, Tori set out to find what was attracting so much attention.

Bonnie hesitated. “Carla and I will stay here and watch the little pirates while you go look.” Bonnie grasped Carla’s hand in hers as if to protect her from harm.

Tori knew that in Bonnie's mind a crowd usually meant trouble. She watched her sister's fierce protectiveness toward Carla replace her fear. Tori often teased her about her "Mama Bear" face. Defending Carla was the only thing that brought out the fight in Bonnie.

The two blonds snuggled closer, side by side. They were one, bonded more closely than many natural mothers and daughters.

When Tori had pulled a bloodied, seven-year-old Carla from the center of a gang beating two years ago and brought her home, she'd never thought it would be the saving of Bonnie. But breaking free of her own traumatic past to help someone worse off than she had given Bonnie a purpose in life. Her maternal instincts blossomed and burst forth to protect and enfold Carla.

"Tori, don’t get too close. Okay?" Bonnie's command was as close to an order as she came these days.

Tori looked down at Bonnie's petite frame. She was so feminine looking with her honey-blond hair softly caressing her creamy face, her floral sundress fluttering in the slight breeze, and the daintiest of sandals crisscrossing her tiny feet. She wasn’t much taller than Carla, whose blond curls were on a level with Bonnie’s shoulders.

"I'll be careful," said Tori. At least she could give the verbal assurance her sister needed so badly. What a pair we make, Bonnie and me – a picture of contrasts. Feminine and tomboy. Light and dark. Short and tall. Timid and dauntless. Or maybe that’s smart and stupid, depending on who you're asking.

Crossing the two-lane road, Tori jogged around the corner toward the edge of the gathering crowd. She eyed the huge drainage ditch in which the kids were playing. They must get quite a bit of water through here at times. That thing is what...fifteen feet wide and almost that deep?"

She began maneuvering through the murmuring mass of bodies, hoping for a better view. Suddenly, the screech and wail of a police blow-horn burst through the air effectively squelching all other noise.

MOVE BACK! Everyone, please MOVE BACK!

Surprisingly, the crowd immediately began to back away. They scrunched into a small open area on the other side of the road.

Tori couldn't believe it. One country cop, and this whole crowd was obeying his every command like he was that dude in the Bible – Moses or something like that.

Not where I grew up. Twenty-eight years on the streets in downtown San Diego says I can find a way around this Barney Fife-type and see what's going on. With the thought came the action. Tori scampered around the back of the crowd, up and over a fence, around the back of a house and voila` – she had a front-row seat. It took only a moment for her to spot the cause of all the ruckus. Whew! Big Mack trouble...and I don't mean McDonald's.

Across the street, atop a fifty-foot embankment, hung the rear end of a ten-wheel dump truck. Though the bed of the truck was raised slightly, it looked like most of its fifteen tons of dirt was still jammed in place. This was common ground for Tori. She'd spent the last five years driving trucks for a landscape company. Buddy, I think you failed to open the tailgate soon enough; and, with your material dampened from the recent downpour, it won’t flow from the bed. You are in a serious fix.

Tori's gaze locked onto a boulder that slipped off the back of the truck and began to descend the embankment. Her eyes followed the stone as it rolled down, down, down until it finally dropped into the ditch at the bottom. The ditch! Her heart stopped as she spotted Bonnie and Carla. They had crossed the street and were leaning on the pipe railing, still watching the pirate-kids playing in the ditch. Tori realized that her unique viewpoint allowed her to see this added danger that was hidden from the mass of people with chins in the air and eyes focused on the teetering truck. Someone needs to get those kids out of the ditch.

While Tori was trying to figure out the quickest way from her position, a flash of blue caught her eye. She watched as a blue pickup truck screeched to a halt alongside the ditch. A tall man jumped from the truck almost before it stopped. He stood for a moment, hands on hips, looking upward to the precariously balanced dump-truck. His head suddenly snapped to the left. Tori knew the exact second he saw the kids. Before she could take a breath, he flew over the pipe railing and into the ditch.

When the man landed and started running toward the kids, Tori jumped her own fence, slid down a mound of rocky ground to the street, and continued at a run. She worked her way up the embankment, sending dirt and rocks tumbling after her as she scrambled for a foothold. By the time she reached the top, the lack of air in her tortured lungs folded her over like a rag doll with only half its stuffing. She groaned.

Not the smartest move only days out of the hospital. Gasp. She could feel the pull of stitches against skin. Breathe in…breathe out…slowly.

Finally she gasped her way around to the front of the big truck and on toward the driver’s door. Sucking in a deep, lung full of air she stood straight. Then with practiced ease, she lifted her right foot to the metal step, grabbed the hand bar and pulled herself up. Her left hand automatically grasped the door handle before she realized the driver was still in the cab of the truck.

"Hey, buddy, how about you pull this machine out of here?" Her voice squeaked with tension.

Tori watched a drop of sweat cut a muddy swath down the young man's dusty cheek. He seemed frozen in place, nothing moving except his lips. He kept repeating the same words over and over. “Please, Lord…please Lord.”

She softened her voice. "Can you drive this rig out of here?"

As if afraid to even turn his head, he muttered through clenched teeth. "Nooo...can't... sooory...want out."

Tori hiked her chin up a notch and gritted her teeth – a sure sign of determination on the rise. I'd pray too if I thought there was anyone to pray to...but, even if there is a god, he'd never listen to me. So, as usual, I'm on my own.

"OK, dude. Here's what we're going to do. You're going to stay just as you are – not that you look capable of doing anything else – keeping your foot on the brake. Now set the parking brake. Go ahead, you can do it.” She hoped she sounded encouraging.

It seemed to take forever for the kid to do that simple maneuver, but he finally accomplished it.

“That’s my man,” exclaimed Tori. “Have you kicked in the interlock?”

“No.” Panic shot out with the quick, one word answer, like a bullet fired from a gun.

"Okay…no problem. The brake is set, right?”

At his nod, Tori continued in a soothing voice. “I'm going to open the door."

He flinched.

“And you can climb out.”

His hopeful glance was obvious, and the depth of his sigh almost broke Tori’s heart.

"By the way, what's your name?" Tori asked the question as she gently pulled the door open.

"Ted!" The word whooshed from his mouth with relief as he tumbled to the ground and staggered away from the truck.

Tori swung easily up onto the recently vacated seat and clasped the safety belt across her lap. Flipping up the red cover, she thumbed the interlock switch forward. Now, both tandems were driving. Okay, Sweet Mack, lets get your tail back on solid ground. I’ll work on getting the weight off your rear end, but you gotta promise me you’ll move forward and not try any fancy back-flips.

Tori disengaged the parking brake and slid the gearshift into low-compound. The back wheels dropped slightly, biting deeper into the soft ground and sending a chunk of Tori’s heart into her throat. A terrible possibility suddenly slammed into her brain. Who would take care of Bonnie and Carla if she got herself killed? Why didn't she think of that before getting herself into a dangerous situation? It had been less than a week since she'd luckily escaped the last mess. Was she doomed to stupidity? Tori shook off that depressing thought.

She applied more pressure to the accelerator and the roar of the engine grew. With the tandem axles driving together, the truck strained upward. Tori eased the stick forward, letting the hydraulics gently settle the bed into place as the Mack gradually pulled itself up and over the embankment's edge.

It was strange how five harrowing minutes could feel like hours of tension. She punched the horn in relief and as a sign of victory, then continued to ease the massive machine away from the drop-off. All wheels now rested on solid ground. Tori took a deep breath, kissed her fingertips and tenderly touched the dashboard. Sweet, you are really sweet, Mack. Terrible habit – talking to myself, but to machines? Crazy.

After checking her mirrors, Tori shifted into reverse. Easing backwards she was careful to stop inches short of the crumbling edge. She popped the tailgate and began raising the bed. A couple of bumps of the bed broke loose the clogged muck, and fifteen tons of dirt poured smoothly down the embankment. Tori once again levered the bed into place and maneuvered the big Mack into position. She faced the road leading off the hill, thinking to make it easy for the kid to take it from there.

Shoving the truck into neutral, she set the brake, flipped the interlock off and snapped its red cover into place. She released the catch on the seat belt and reached for the door, mentally patting herself on the back for a job well-done. A grin curved her lips. She loved driving big trucks and heavy equipment.

Maybe it's a control issue. All that power awaiting my command, resting under my fingertips. Shoot! Nothing else in life follows my directions. Is it any wonder I like working in a field that lets me be the master?

Metal creaked. The heavy door swung open and a huge, brown hand clamped around her arm and tugged her from the cab. Muscular arms slammed her against a broad chest then squeezed and thumped until she thought she’d pass out. It was a forgone conclusion, she'd have bruises on her bruises. But, she hoped the stitches across her ribs and back didn't pull loose. She wasn't ready to deal with that eventuality.

Tori cringed as her control passed to someone bigger and stronger. Why did it always seem to work that way?

Buy it NOW:  Arizona Redemption

Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 .by International Bible Society Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

Sketches of Bisbee, Arizona, Copyright ©Charles Turner, Bisbee resident and Art Teacher. Used by permission of Charles Turner.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author.

The following is a work of fiction. References to real events, places, businesses and organizations are intended to add a sense of reality to this work. The Honorable, Mayor Charles E. (Chuck) Eads actually existed. Any resemblance to any other person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover Photo: Leia Job   https://www.leiajobe.com