“He didn’t hit his head! He came after Oscar! Oscar did it!” Amy shrieks, but it’s obvious that she’s losing ground. Her eyes dart around, and people point at her, whispering things about sanity.
“Young lady,” Mr. Maree says over the murmuring, “are you accusing my son of someone’s accidental death? I don’t take kindly to that.”
“He came after Oscar!” Amy shouts.
Someone in the crowd calls out, “How do you know that, Amy?” The voice is familiar. I scan through the unfamiliar faces and find the slightly familiar one. Sophia.
She’s standing in the back, in a pristine, pink dress. And she repeats, like a brick wall, “How do you know that he was after Oscar, Amy?”
Amy spots Sophia, and begins sliding past people, toward the end of the aisle.
“How do you know, unless you sent the guy, Amy?” Sophia calls. The whispers jump up, and I catch bits and pieces of insinuations and accusations pointed in Amy’s direction, instead of at Oscar, or his father. The words set up drift through the crowd, and the acknowledgement bubbles up over and over again, that the Marees are good men, solid men, not men that would do this sort of thing. The final conclusion seems to be that this poor young woman must be a jilted lover, who has come to air her grievance over not being in the bride’s dress.
Amy is shamed, and practically discounted, before she even scoots out to the end of the aisle. She walks quickly back toward the French doors of the main house, but Mr. Maree raises his hand to one of the Security guards, and the guard murmurs into his headpiece. Two more guards materialize, on either side of Amy, and escort her out. Sophia takes a seat, demurely, in the back, blowing a kiss off her hand to Oscar, and then another, with a friendly wink, to me.
The Pastor leans down and says, “Are you ready to resume?”
But Oscar lifts two fingers to the Pastor, and the Holy Man nods and steps back, giving us as much privacy as can be had, while standing in front of a hundred expectant faces. Oscar bends, so his lips are near my ear.
“You don’t have to marry me.” he says. His voice cracks. “Tatum died of a seizure, not the impact of the fall. I found out this morning. There’s nothing to hide now. My father would deny the accident, but there is no evidence against him anyway. I should have told you, but I didn’t, because I was afraid I’d lose you, Hale. But this isn’t fair to you either. I’ll see to it that your father is helped, and that you have enough to go to a good college. You’re free to go. I won’t hold you to a marriage you don’t want.”
“You won’t?” I say.
“No.” His voice cracks again, as he shakes his head and looks away. I look out over the hundred guests, and then I glance over my shoulder at Sher, who smiles a sad smile, like she’ll love me no matter what I do. I turn back to Oscar, but his eyes are cast down.
I lean closer to him and whisper, “But what if I said I want to marry you? What if I said I want to marry you because I love the man that you are? What if I said I love you, Oscar?”
He finally looks back up, meeting my gaze.
“Then I’d come running,” he says.
“Then let me,” I say. “Because I love you, Oscar. I want to marry you, and be your wife, and argue about children. I want everything about you. I do.”
I drop my purple-and-yellow bouquet, and forget all about what we’re supposed to do and say next. Instead, in front of God and our hundred witnesses, I reach for my husband, and he encircles me in his arms, kissing me, in a way that means absolutely everything.
SPECIAL THANKS
Thank you, God.
Love and thanks to Pook, who takes on the world for me, with me. You’re always my hero.
Thanks to Mom, who insisted on helping to edit HALE. I love you dearly although we can never look each other in the eyes again.
Thanks to Ma and Pa and Dad, for the unwavering belief and the unspoken agreement at family get-togethers that none of us have ever written or read this book.
Huge thanks to PepsiCoke (J Nunez); 4AM (M Anderson); Candace; Novels on the Run’s Michelle; my Debbie Ulbrich; Michelle Leighton; Annie (all rosies) (AM Hargrove); SupaGurl Heather; Flyleaf’s Heather R.; M. Smith (my fave Book Nerd in America); Love of Book’s Christy; Supernatural Snark’s Jenny; Tess; Globug & HootieGirl; H. Rosdol; my absolute fave Tsk Tsk girls Kathryn & Shelley (I’ll bring David back soonish! Maybe!); Kat Ellis; Shelly Crane; Mark “McThrashbone” Morgan; Fighting Dreamer Cayce; Rainy Day Heidi; Captivated Reading Christy; Jen Kromer; Turning Pages Angela; EJ Wesley; Reading Angel Angela; Book Addict Tee; Clare Davidson; Lita; Howie; Kristina; Autumn; Rebecca E; M Fita; KSauce; J Betcher; Sue & Chris Salah; Dani; Pam Heintz; L Zera; Starla Huchton who has a voice like absolute buttah; Soda & Brend...and to all those I missed, but am eternally grateful~ you know who you are.
And thank you to you, with your eyes on these pages, for reading. I hope this story brings you joy.
Now, please enjoy an excerpt from A.M. Hargrove’s latest book, Dark Waltz, a Praestani Novel, to be released November 2012.
Dark Waltz, A Praestani Novel
by A.M. Hargrove
“Going somewhere?” that husky voice asked.
Crapitty crap!
She sucked in her breath and dropped her annihilator, as his voice startled her. Before her brain could comprehend what was happening, she felt her body swirling through a vortex. She finally came to rest in another place.
Disoriented and dizzy, she tried to focus on her surroundings, but everything seemed to tilt sideways. She reached out her hand to stop herself from falling, but only succeeded in grabbing a fistful of air. Not knowing which way was up or down, she tried, unsuccessfully, to break her fall. Instead, she felt her breath leave her body in a whoosh as she slammed into the ground.
Fighting for oxygen, her diaphragm wouldn’t cooperate with her brain’s commands. Worse yet, she felt a pair of hands latch onto her waist, drag her to her feet and ram her back into a wall. Her head hung down as she fought to draw in precious oxygen, yet found she was still unable to do so. Then the asshole had the nerve to jam his arm straight into her diaphragm and start demanding things of her.
“Who do you work for?”
Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, like a poor fish that had been hauled out of the water, desperate to be thrown back in.
“I’ll ask again, who do you work for?” he bit out each word with precision.
Things began to turn grey and hazy as the lack of air finally took its toll on her brain. She knew she was going to pass out.
Double crapitty crap!
Her head lolled to the side and...blink, lights out.
Jurek looked at her and cursed, “What the fuck?”
He hadn’t realized she was so close to losing it. He laid her out on the floor and looked at her for a moment. She wasn’t beautiful in that traditional, cookie-cutter sense, but there was something about her that enticed him. Her chestnut mane for one, and Jurek had always been a sucker for women with beautiful hair, but those hazel eyes of hers were something else. Her full lips were kissably soft, he thought, as he ran his thumb along her mouth. He finally placed his hand on her forehead and in seconds, she came to, moaning.
Her eyes fluttered open and when the recognition in them flickered, those hazel eyes shot sparks of gold. Hovering before her was the dark haired man from the bar. She wouldn’t have had to open her eyes to know it was him since every cell in her body was on fire with his power.
Soft black hair hung close to his shoulders and he wore it brushed back off his face. Liasare briefly wondered if it would feel as soft as it looked. He had a bit of scruff on his face; he obviously hadn’t bothered to shave in the last couple of days. His lips were full and sensuous and definitely made for kissing. In fact, Liasare could imagine running her tongue along that lower lip of his, tugging on it and gently sucking it. What made her nearly lose it were his eyes. They were extraordinary. Lavender, rimmed in indigo with flecks of silver swirling within their depths, Lias
are had never seen anything so stunning in her life.
Regaining her senses, Liasare flew to her feet and threw a right uppercut that connected beneath Jurek’s jaw. Had he been a lesser man, it would have laid him out. Then she spun on her heel and began the motion for an intended groin kick, but his quick reflexes caught her leg before it connected and he flicked it off with his hand.
“You flaming asshole. Who do you think you are? You fucking knock the wind out of me and then you do it again for shits and giggles? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Watch your language and I’m asking the questions here.”
“Not anymore,” Liasare hissed as she turned to head out of the building.
Before she could take another step, an arm snaked out and grabbed her around the waist. He pulled her tightly against his chest and whispered huskily into her ear, “I asked you a question. I want to know who you’re working for and I don’t intend to let you go until I get an answer.”
His voice washed over her with that electrifying intense heat. She felt her skin erupt in a million goose bumps as every hair on her body stood at attention.
Damn him, she thought. How can he have this kind of power over me? Fuck!
“You have no idea Brownie.”
“Brownie?
“Mmm. Brownie. For that glorious mane of hair you have.” His hand spanned across her stomach and she felt a million butterflies suddenly erupt as he hugged her tightly against him.
“I’ll bet you taste better than one too.” If she could have turned around she would have seen the corners of his mouth turn up as he baited her.
End of preview
You can find A.M. Hargrove and more information about Dark Waltz and her other books at her website
www.amhargrove.com
or
www.amhargrove.blogspot.com
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