They did a swan dive all the way down to the heels of my designer boots.
A cop car, bristling with antennas and boasting a no-nonsense light bar across the top, was slowing down as it came alongside me.
Did Eric sic the Mounties on me?
I teetered a bit, wishing I were a praying person. Because if I believed that God cared even one iota about my personal well-being, I'd be reciting the Lord's Prayer, Hail Mary--anything to get His ear right now.
My nerves settled somewhat when I saw two young girls huddled in the backseat of the cruiser. They didn't look older than seven or eight. What could they have possibly done to warrant the heavy artillery of a police car and two officers?
And what would the cops want with me?
……….
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All In One Place
Excerpt - This Place
My life had come full circle.
Abandoned child. Check.
Uncertain guardianship of said child. Check.
Only this time I wasn't the one crying upstairs, cast off yet again by my biological mother, rejecting hugs offered by a loving foster parent.
The time it was my niece who lay prostrate, staring sightlessly at her bedroom wall, so quiet it seemed she was afraid to draw even the smallest bit of attention to herself.
Earlier in the evening, I had sat beside her until she fell into a troubled sleep, my hand curled around hers, my heart breaking for so many reasons. I wanted to stay at her side all night. To drink in features I had imagined so many times. To be there for her if she woke up, crying.
But I had other issues I couldn’t put off. So I reluctantly drew myself from her side, and returned downstairs to find a small blaze crackling in the corner fireplace of the living room. The heat warmed the house but did little to melt the chill in my bones. It had settled there, deep and aching, as I watched her parents’ coffins being lowered into the icy ground.
Duncan Tiemstra, Celia's uncle, hovered by the fire as if attempting to absorb all of its warmth, one arm resting on the mantle, looking at a picture he held in his other hand. He had aged since that first time I met him at Jer and Francine’s wedding. Then he looked young. Fresh. Ready to face life. And very interested in me.
Now he looked like a grieving Visigoth, with his blond hair brushing the collar of his shirt and framing a square-jawed face. The hint of stubble shadowing his jaw made him look harder and unapproachable. When we met at the funeral all I received was a taciturn hello. No memory of the feelings we had shared eight years ago.
My heart folded at the contrast from then to now.
Then we were dancing on the edges of attraction, flirting with possibilities. I was twenty-two, my life ahead of me. He was twenty-seven, looking to settle down. We laughed together. Even went on a couple of dates.
Now, we were separated by years and events that had pushed us apart, yet connected by the little girl that lay upstairs.
Excerpt - A Silence the Heart - coming soon
Holmes Crossing #4
She thought she heard the cry of a child.
The haunting sound slid through the early-morning quiet just as Tracy stepped out of her car. Still holding the door, she canted her head to one side, listening.
There it was again. Softer this time.
Tracy strode around the concrete-block building trying to pinpoint the origin. But when she came around the side, the street in front of the clinic was empty as well.
The tension in her shoulders loosened and she shivered, pulling her thin sweater closer around herself. Ever the optimist, she had left her warmer jacket hanging in the hallway closet of her apartment this morning, counting on the early-September sun to melt away the coolness of the fall morning.
Then a movement caught her eye.
She stopped and turned to face whatever might come.
Then a small boy shuffled cautiously around the corner of the clinic, his head angled down, his thin arms cradling something. He looked to be about six or seven.
Tracy relaxed as she recognized him. For the past two weeks she had seen him walking past the clinic in the early morning on his way to school. The last few days he had stopped to look in the window. It had taken a few encouraging waves and smiles from her to finally tease one from his wary face.
She always felt bad for him, going to school on his own, remembering too well her own early morning treks as a young child.
Tracy might have been inadequately dressed for the weather, but this little boy was even more so. He wore a short- sleeved T-shirt, faded blue jeans and in spite of the gathering chill, sandals on bare feet. As she watched, he shivered lightly.
“Hey, there,” Tracy said quietly, sensing he might startle easily.
“I want to see the doctor,” he said, sniffing lightly as Tracy came nearer. “This kitten got hurt.” He angled her a suspicious glance through the tangle of dark hair hanging in his brown eyes.
“The veterinarian isn’t in yet.” Tracy crouched down to see what he was holding. The tiny ball of mangled fur tucked in his arms looked in rough shape. One eye was completely closed, the fur around it matted with blood. A leg hung at an awkward angle. Probably broken.
“What happened to it?” she asked quietly.
“I dunno. I just found him laying here.” The little boy stood stiffly, his body language defensive. “Can you fix him?”
Tracy’s heart sank. She knew the little boy couldn’t pay the vet fees, and from the looks of his clothes, doubted his parents could.
“Where’s your mommy?” she asked, touching the kitten lightly.
“I dunno.”
Those two words dove into her soul. Too familiar.
“Is she at your home?”
He kept his eyes down, looking at his kitten. Tracy looked over his worn clothes and the dried smear of tomato sauce on his face and stained shirt and filled in the blanks. She guessed he had gone to bed looking like this and that there was no one at his home right now.
“I wanna keep him,” the little boy wiped his nose on the shoulder of his T-shirt, a hitch in his voice. “He can be my friend when I’m by myself.”
Tracy’s thoughts jumped back in time. She saw herself a young girl of eight, standing in the kitchen of her apartment she and her mother shared, saying the same words, also holding a kitten, hope lingering.
“Not enough money,” her mother had said, though Velma managed to use those same limited funds for lottery tickets and liquor. How Tracy had longed for that kitten. A friend. Someone to hold when there was no one around.
Tracy pushed herself to her feet. “Let’s go inside.”
The boy slanted her a narrow-eyed, wary look, holding back as she unlocked the door and opened it.
“It’s okay,” Tracy said quietly. “We have to go inside to look at your kitten.”
He nodded and slowly stepped inside, his head swiveling around, checking out the reception area of the clinic.
“What’s your name?” she asked as the door fell shut behind them.
“Are you a stranger?” he asked, suspicion edging his voice. “My mom says I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers.”
“I’m a vet technician,” she answered, sidestepping the guarded question. "And my name is Tracy Harris.”
He stood in the center of the room, a tightly wound bundle of vigilance, clinging to the kitten like a lifeline. His eyes darted around—assessing, watchful. They met Tracy’s as he straightened, as if making a decision. “My name is Kent,” he said with a quick lift of his chin. “Kent Cordell.”
She had been given a small gift of trust and in spite of the kitten that might be dying in his arms, she gave Kent a smile. She skimmed his shoulder with her fingers. “Good to meet you, Kent.”
The back door slammed and a loud singing broke the quiet. Crystal, the other vet technician burst into the room with her usual dramatic flair, bright orange sweater swirling behind her. “And a good morning to you, my dear,”
she called out snatching a knitted hat off her deep red hair, then stopped when she saw Kent.
Kent tucked his head over the kitten, his shoulders hunched in defense. Like a turtle he had withdrawn again.
Crystal angled her chin at Kent as she tossed her hat on the desk. “Who’s the kid?”
“This is Kent, and I’m bringing him and his kitten to an examining room. As soon as Dr. Harvey comes in, can you send him my way?”
“Not Dr. Braun?” Crystal asked, her voice holding a teasing tone.
Tracy was disappointed at the faint blush warming her neck. From the first day that David Braun had started at the clinic four months ago, Crystal had been avidly watching the two of them, as if it was only a matter of time before they started dating. Because, you know, two single people were always on the lookout for a mate.
Negatory.
There was no way Tracy was putting herself there again. Her old relationship with Art was the textbook version of ‘bad relationship’. And she wasn’t putting herself there again.
But that didn’t stop her from feeling extra self-conscious around David—which in turn annoyed her.
“Just send Dr. Harvey in when he comes,” she said.
Crystal pouted. “Okay, okay. I’ll just be in the supply room.” She swung around, her lab coat flaring out behind her as she strode down the hall. But from the glance she tossed over her shoulder and the wink she gave, Tracy guessed Crystal hadn’t gotten the hint.
At all.
Excerpt - Any Man of Mine
"If I have to drop a quarter off one more set of abs," I hefted two four-liter jugs of milk onto the conveyor belt of the grocery store with a grunt "--punch one more stomach--," I followed it with two jumbo sized boxes of breakfast cereal “--trip…over...one...more...saddle--." I punctuated each word with the toss of a bag of chips, peanuts and sunflower seeds. "--I am throwing an old-fashioned, fully feminine hissy fit." I glared at Tracy, who stood behind me in the line at the cash register, daring her to deny me my well-earned pique.
"Just stay away from the high C on the scream," was all Tracy said. "You're more of an alto than a soprano."
As my best friend, Tracy would feign sympathy with my rants against my brothers, but I knew she was never fully on my side. From the first day she stayed overnight at my parents’ ranch and had been bombarded with my brothers’ spitballs as she came into the kitchen, my dad's booming voice yelling at her to come on in and join us for dinner and my mom's yelling at my dad to stop yelling, Tracy had fallen head over heels in love with my family.
"I still can't figure out why each of my 33, 32 and 29-year-old brothers still want to live at home," I continued.
"You're really venting this morning," Tracy commented with a wry tone.
"Just getting started," I returned. It was Tuesday, the second day in a week that had begun badly, the first day was yesterday. Today wasn't looking so good, either.
The flat tire I'd had on the way to work didn't help, nor did the fact that I'd had to change it wearing high heels and a narrow skirt on the side of a quiet gravel road.
"You still live at home and you're 27," Tracy pointed out.
"At least I, at one time, had plans to move out." I allowed a flicker of self-pity to creep into my voice. "Then Dad had his heart attack."
"How is your dad doing?"
"It will still be a few weeks before he's back to normal. The doctor also said often people suffer deep depression after a heart attack. So I'm still hoping and praying he'll perk up and get more involved in the ranch."
Four weeks ago, my dad, Arnold Hemstead, had collapsed at the auction mart and had been rushed to emergency. He was diagnosed with a cardiac infarction, spent ten days in the hospital and came home to three anxious sons. And me.
Neil, Chip and Carter hovered, helped and catered to my dad for a thoughtful 36 minutes then they went back to their welding, fixing and farming, knowing I'd take over.
"I caught a glimmer of my old dad the other day," I continued. "He's getting more interested in what's happening. He asked me if I was unloading bales for Carter next week."
"Are you?"
I dismissed her comment with an exasperated eye-roll. I learned long ago to keep my nose in my business and in the house, away from anything to do with machinery, tractors and animals. The few times I offered my help and didn't understand what needed to be done, my brothers' method of informing me of my mistakes was to repeat the instructions verbatim and increase the decibels.
Such cozy bonding time that was, working with the guys.
"Okay, I'm guessing that's no." Tracy picked up one of the magazines lined up by the counter. "Sounds like you should take this quiz--‘Is the male in your life a man or a guy?’"
"Guy, guy, guy and absolutely guy." The only not-guy in my life had been a few assorted boyfriends, the last one being Anthony.
However, I broke up with him in the fall and had found no one who appealed to me since.
And Wyatt? Where did he fit?
In the past, I told myself. Even after all this time memories of him could still create a twist in my heart.
"Okay, I sense we're not done with the sisterly pique yet." Tracy straightened the magazine and tilted me a grin. "Are you going to tell me which one of the guys in your life triggered this latest outburst?"
I pulled from the painful past into the annoying present. "Chip. Hands down or in his case up in the air so he can flex his lateral deltoids." I sighed. "And don't I sound like I know too much about that."
"So what did Chip do to earn this attack?"
Where to start, where to start?
"Let me set the stage," I said, watching the cashier bag the trans fat-loaded food. "It's Monday at 6:30, and Monday usually means a cranky supervisor, cranky foster parents and cranky foster kids who've had two more days worth of complaints to pile on me. One deranged biological father threatening me with a lawsuit if I didn't return his children to him the minute he steps out of jail, two runaways over the weekend and another case worker who won't return my calls. I come home tired and ready for a cup of tea and a smidgen of sympathy. I step onto the porch and stumble over Chip's roping saddle parked square in front of the door. As I try to gain my balance, I end up tangled up in a set of reins and fall in a most ungraceful heap on Chip's greasy coveralls. End result--a cleaning bill, bruised hip and a broken heel on the new boots you and I spent an hour and a half looking for in West Edmonton Mall. So you have a stake in my misery, considering all the grumbling you did on the two-hour drive back from said mall."
I could see from the faint twitch of Tracy's lips that, while as a friend and fellow woman she felt sorry for me, as a normal human being with a dose of guy genes herself she could picture my ungainly fall and see the humour in it.
Growing up with three brothers who revelled in their "guyness" had provided me with me lots of ranting fodder, but Tracy often took their side. Other than a frequently absent mother, Tracy had grown up on her own. The noise and busyness in our house was a welcome change for her and she enjoyed it.
And she enjoyed Holmes Crossing. So when she graduated from her vet tech course she had returned to Holmes Crossing out of choice. I came back because it was one of the few places I could get a job in my chosen field of social work. There had been government cutbacks, and while I would have preferred to work in Edmonton, Calgary, Red Deer or any of the larger Albertan cities, Holmes Crosssing had been a temporary option. Besides, I could live at home cheaply, which helped me pay off my student loans and get a decent savings account, AKA "escape" account, started.
And then I met Wyatt.
I sucked in a deep breath. Seriously. Why was I going back to that? Four years now and I still felt like he was hovering on the edges of my mind. Unwelcome hovering, but showing up none-the-less. Maybe it was because of Anthony. Breaking up with him had been necessary, but hard. He was a nice person. Just not my person.
I handed the cashier my debit card and gave the groceries a once
-over, making sure I didn't miss any vital items such as chocolate-covered peanuts, pop or something equally nutritious.
"So...moving on to the more mundane things in your life. What are you doing the rest of this afternoon?" Tracy asked as she put her own groceries on the conveyor belt. I glanced at the fresh lettuce, cucumbers, green peppers and fruit, and suffered a moment of grocery envy. Tracy's husband, a "man" in my estimation, didn't think eating salad would diminish his manhood and gladly ate the occasional meatless meal without thinking he would faint when he left the table.
"After bringing you to the clinic, picking up my dry cleaning, getting my shoe repaired and dropping my flat tire off at my brother's mechanic shop?" I asked, trying for one last bid of sympathy.
"Yeah." She seemed distracted so no joy there.
"I have to head back to the office to give the other 'guy' in my life, my beloved supervisor, Casey Braeshears, a few moments of my time." I gathered up the Super-Size-Me groceries and swung the last bag into the cart, taking my frustrations out on Neil's nacho chips.
"Forget to paper clip your invoices again?" Tracy asked, in mock horror.
"I'm thinking it's something worse, like letting that teenager I had to drag home from a party borrow a government-issued pen without making him return it." I gave her a resigned look. "The budget, you know, doesn't cover these major, unforeseen expenses."
"He still talk about leaving?" Tracy asked.
"Unfortunately, no." It was the tantalizing thought of my annoying boss quitting like he had promised for the past six months that had kept me parked at my current job. Thinking I could take over from him. That and the fact I still had a boyfriend.
But I broke up with Anthony, Casey back-pedalled on the quitting thing and just as I was making plans to go, my father had his heart attack. "Life is what happens when you are making other plans,” the old saying goes.
Homecoming (Sweet Hearts of Sweet Creek Book 1) Page 24