Counting Down to Hidden Fire Day 7

What I'm Reading: One Shot, by Lee Child

Today's the last day of the countdown. Tomorrow is Release Day. I got my official copies yesterday, so I can now post the "authentic" excerpt.

Remember to leave a comment on any countdown post. You'll have to check back to see if you're the winner. I'll announce it Friday.

Under the table, Sarah’s toes found the cuff of Randy’s pants and inched their way up his calf, the coarse hair tickling her foot. His eyes widened, his eyebrows arched and the standard restaurant candle-in-a-jar caught the hazel flecks in his otherwise brown eyes. He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, but it flopped back the way it always did.

She smiled at the hovering waiter, placed her hand over her empty coffee cup and shook her head. No more, Tony. Thanks.”

Tony refilled Randy’s coffee cup and whisked away his empty pie plate. Randy’s eyes returned to Sarah, moving between her dessert and her face. He smiled, but she could sense his impatience. She continued her torment by dipping her spoon into the chocolate mousse in front of her. Slowly, carefully, she filled the spoon with the rich delight.

His call had surprised her yesterday, when he announced he’d be coming back from San Francisco a day early. She wriggled her toes higher up his leg, trying not to laugh as he squirmed. She’d chosen her outfit very carefully this morning. Demure didn’t begin to cover it. Prim? Prissy? That was closer. Navy blue slacks, a pale blue silk blouse buttoned to the neck and a navy blazer. Not quite a suit, but close enough. Of course, the thong beneath the slacks and the lace demi-bra under the blouse were anything but prissy. She’d sensed Randy’s eyes on her behind as they walked up the steps to the restaurant. And maybe his hand had slipped a little lower than the small of her back as he’d guided her to their booth.

She poised the mousse-laden spoon in front of her mouth, parting her lips a fraction. With her other hand, she fingered the pearl button at her neck.

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” One button, then a second, slipped through its hole. Randy leaned forward.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered.

Her tongue wrapped around the mousse. Her eyes closed. She sighed.

“You’re going to finish that, aren’t you?” he asked, resignation in his tone.

Without opening her eyes, she said, “Every bite.”

He blew out a long, slow breath.

She met his gaze and smiled at his obvious annoyance. “It’s chocolate. Some things shouldn’t be rushed.”

She slid her foot out from inside the restriction of his slacks and worked them up his thigh. He reached for his glass and swigged gulps of water. When her toes met his lap, he choked. Coughing, eyes watering, he reached down and encountered her waiting foot. Still choking, he clutched it closer to his groin and she felt his hardness. She lowered her eyes to her mousse and took another bite, swirling her tongue around her lips.

Tony appeared and refilled Randy’s water glass. “Are you all right, Detective Detweiler?”

Randy nodded and waved him off, gesturing for the check. Sarah covered mouth with her napkin, trying to erase her grin.

“So, tell me all about your violent-crime work,” she said. “Not much call for that in Pine Hills. Or do people get violent when they get parking tickets?”

He wiped his mouth and set the napkin beside his plate. “Right now, Sarah Tucker, I’m thinking about all the gruesome pictures, which is the only thing keeping me from embarrassing the hell out of myself right here.”

Heat burned in his eyes. Her nipples pebbled behind the lace of her bra and heat pooled between her legs. She scraped the remnants of the mousse from her dish, the clicks of the spoon against the glass barely audible over the blood pounding in her ears. She wanted him. Now.

Tony returned and dropped the check on the table, not meeting Randy’s eyes. “Whenever you’re ready, Detective.” He pivoted on his heel and left.

“All finished,” Sarah said, smiling. “You want to go, or have more coffee?”

In response, Randy dumped some bills on the table, angled himself out of the booth and extended his hand. She fumbled, trying to get her foot back into one of the sensible pumps she’d worn to complete her stodgy look. Grasping his fingers, she scooted across the vinyl bench. He gave her the leverage she needed and she rubbed against him as she stood.

He squeezed her hand. “After you.” His aftershave wafted to her nostrils, counteracting the myriad cooking aromas.

He quickened his pace. By the time they hit the porch surrounding the rustic restaurant, he half-dragged her down the steps and elongated his stride across the unpaved parking lot. Earth and pine scents mingled, still unable to compete with his special scent. Spice and Randy. A lethal combination.

“Hey,” she said with a laugh. “You in a hurry? I’m not six-six, remember? Short legs.”

In response, he simply scooped her up and covered the rest of the distance to his pickup. “If I hurry now, maybe I’ll be able to take it slow when it counts. Damn, woman, I’ve missed you.”

“Me, or the sex?” she said.

He paused, as if he wasn’t sure. “You,” he said at last. “You, you, you.”

“Oh, so you don’t want the sex?”

By now, he’d unlocked the doors to his truck. He worked the passenger door open and set her on the seat. “You are going out of your way to torment me, aren’t you?”

She ran her tongue across her lips. “Maybe.”

“No maybes about it.” He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her hair. She reached around him, his wool sweater rough against her cheek.

“I missed you, too.” She raised her face and parted her lips. “Welcome home.”

He leaned into the truck’s cab, meeting her mouth with his own. He cradled her face in his hands and she surrendered to the warmth of his kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair, sending tingles all the way to her toes. Tongues teased and danced with promises of more to come. He tasted of apples and cinnamon, of coffee and Randy. A vague impression of couples passing, of headlights coming and going, of car doors opening and closing hovered at the edge of her consciousness. A whistled cat-call broke through the final barrier.

“Guess we should go,” she said. “I’ve got a few surprises for you at my apartment.”

“My place is closer,” he murmured between kisses.

When his cell rang, he swore.

Counting Down to Hidden Fire Day 6

Today -- the last installment in the further adventures of Randy and Sarah.

When Randy met Tucker

Sarah stood at the window and stared out into the winter darkness. She felt Randy's hands at her shoulders and leaned against him.

"You all right?" He nuzzled her hair. "You've been quiet lately."

"I'm fine," she said, but didn't turn around. No need for him to see the tears brimming in her eyes. She reached up and squeezed his hands.

As if he understood, Randy draped his arms over her and cupped her swollen belly. The child inside her gave a kick, whether in protest or recognition, Sarah never knew. But she knew that any time Randy touched her abdomen, the baby acknowledged it. She put her small hands over the much larger ones of her husband.

With a tremulous breath, she turned around and buried her face in his chest. His hands ran up and down her back as she wept, and she melted into him—at least as far as her belly would allow. As suddenly as they'd begun, the tears stopped. "Must be the hormones," she said.

"It's all right. I know it's hard. Tomorrow's the day, right? Three years since he died?"

"Yes, but…"

"But you're afraid I'll think you love me less if you miss David."

She gazed up into his eyes. Chocolate brown, flecked with hazel. And that lock of hair that refused to stay back. "I guess so," she whispered. "I guess I feel guilty. Thinking about him when I'm with you, and the baby's close, and I wonder what it would have been like if I'd had a child with David, and that's just not fair to you, and …"

"Shhh." He put his forefinger on her lips. "Sweetheart, you have every right to your memories. I don't begrudge the time you had with David. What you two had together helped make you the Sarah I fell in love with. And am still in love with. And if you'd had a child, I'd love the both of you."

She reached up and tugged at his ears, and he leaned down to kiss her. The kiss left no doubt he'd been honest with her. Once again she wondered how she had been blessed with two such wonderful men. Five years married to David Tucker, and now, the rest of her life with Randy Detweiler.

"You want some hot chocolate?" she asked. "Homemade, from scratch, not the packets?"

"Twist my arm a little harder, why don't you? But are you sure you can still reach the stove?"

"Are you calling me fat?" She grinned and headed to the kitchen. "You should know better than to insult someone who's just offered to cook for you. Why don't you go play your piano or something? I'll bring the cocoa when it's ready."

"Any requests?"

"Nothing in particular. But something happy, I think. I've been dreary long enough."

Randy left and Sarah busied herself measuring and stirring. She ignored the twinges that had plagued her all day. Braxton-Hicks contractions, the doctor had said, perfectly normal for two weeks before her due date. But she'd beg for a good backrub tonight.

She carried the mugs of cocoa down the hall to the music room. Randy was playing Rondo alla Turka, and she stood in the doorway and watched his fingers fly over the keys. She'd watched him play Chopin once, early in their courtship, and actually counted his fingers when he'd finished.

She set Randy's mug on top of the piano and hers on the table beside the old easy chair. Turning, she gripped both of its arms and managed to lower herself into its sagging seat. She'd mentioned replacing it once, but it had belonged to Randy's Gram, and the look on his face was answer enough. The chair would stay. It had been weeks since she'd sat in here while Randy played, and she was afraid she might need a crane to get her out. Another twinge, stronger than the others, gripped her abdomen.

"Stop it, kiddo. That one hurt!"

The music stopped abruptly. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Fine. The little one's getting frisky, that's all."

"You sure?" Randy knelt at her side.

"Sure I'm sure. Doctor Zellner said everything is going fine. But next time, you get to carry it. You've got a lot more room than I do."

"If you can figure out a way, I'll be happy to." He leaned down and spoke into her abdomen. "Hey, quiet down in there. Your mom needs her rest."

Sarah laughed, then felt wetness between her legs. Oh, Lord, she hadn't peed on Gram's chair, had she?

"What?" Randy said.

"What do you mean, 'What?' I didn't say anything."

"You just had a really funny look on your face."

Before she could reply, more warm fluid gushed forth. "Oh, God. Randy, go get a towel. Two towels. Quick. I think I've just ruined your Gram's chair."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just get the towels, dammit. My water just broke."

Randy dashed from the room and came back with two bright yellow bath towels a moment later. He slid one under Sarah's bottom. "All right, we're going to the hospital. Now."

"Take it easy. First you call the doctor. Then you get my suitcase. And the bag of Lamaze things." A contraction made her gasp for breath. She remembered to do the breathing she'd learned, but had sudden doubts that it would work.

"Right," Randy said. He walked out of the room, and came back in less than a minute, a glazed expression on his face. He looked three shades paler than he had before.

"Doctor. Suitcase. Lamaze," Sarah repeated. "The list is on the fridge."

"List. Fridge. Right. Thanks."

She smiled and tried to rise from the chair. Moving caused another contraction, a bit stronger than the first, and she sank back down. "Randy! Bring me that long brown dress, and some dry undies. I'm soaked." Her hand moved absently around her belly and she spoke to their unborn child. "Are you sure you want out now? No tricks? I don't think your daddy can do this twice."

"Okay," Randy panted. "Everything's in the truck. Doctor Zellner will meet us at the hospital."

"My clothes?"

"Clothes. Right. You'd want them now, I guess."

Her chuckle brought on another contraction. "Don't make me laugh! But yes, that was the idea."

"Clothes. Truck. Be right back." He turned to go.

"Wait. One more thing."

"What? What did I forget?"

"Nothing. But we still haven't agreed on a boy's name, and I'm not leaving here until we do. We had a deal. No peeking at the ultrasounds, and I'd pick a girl's name, and you'd come up with one for a boy. Well, I did my part, and you approved Emily, after your grandmother. Now it's your turn."

"Sarah, you're kidding. You're in labor! Now is not the time."

"Now is the perfect time. You've avoided the topic for the last seven and a half months." She folded her arms across her chest and gave Randy the best "Don't mess with me" look she could manage, but the grimace as a contraction hit ruined the effect. Or not, because all of a sudden Randy grew calm. He knelt to her level, a gentle hand on her belly.

"I've had a name picked out for months," he murmured.

"So why didn't you say something?"

"I wasn't sure how you would react. I was afraid it would … would be hard for you. Especially now."

Sarah kept her breathing shallow, ignoring the tightening of her womb. "David? You want to call him David? Oh, Randy, I don't know …"

"No, not David. But I know you wanted something of him to live on, and I know you don't use his name anymore, because of the initials. S.T.D. just doesn't cut it. But, would it be all right with you if we called him Tucker?"

Her heart swelled, and any lingering doubts that Randy regretted not being her first love vanished. "Tucker Detweiler. Quite a handle for a little one." She smiled. "But if he's anything like his dad, he'll grow into it." She leaned over and kissed him. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Tell me later. Right now we need to get you to the hospital."

*****

"I hate you, Randy Detweiler." Sarah gasped. "I hate you. And if you ever come near me again, I'll …kill … oh, God, here we go again."

"Atta girl, Sarah," the doctor said. "One more push. Help her out, Dad, she won't really kill you. This is it. Good girl. You've got a boy. A nice, healthy baby boy."

Sarah lay back in euphoric exhaustion and beamed at Randy, who wiped his eyes.

The nurse laid the squawking bundle on her belly. "Here. He's perfect, but I'm sure you'll want to count fingers and toes while the doctor finishes down there."

Sarah marveled at the tiny piece of perfection in her arms. "Good morning, Tuck. Say hi to your daddy."

Counting Down to Hidden Fire Day 5

The countdown continues with part 3 of the short "non-story". I posted Parts 1 and 2 in the "free reads" section of my website yesterday, and if you haven't read it, you'll need to start there. Actually, even if you have read it, you'll need to start there, because there's no link to the last part, which won't make much sense without the first two. Just scroll to the bottom and click the links.

The direct link to the Free Reads page is here.

Please note: There's some sexual content in the last section, so consider yourself advised.

And remember -- a comment on any countdown post gives you a chance for a free download

Counting Down to Hidden Fire Day 4

Digging into the "Save it For Another Time" files.

When I typed "The End" to Finding Sarah, Randy and Sarah had other ideas. I let them have their way, and wrote some bits and pieces about what happened much later. Technically, these events are also post Hidden Fire.

They're not short stories. They're hardly even true chapters, since I didn't have a story to go along with them. If they ever turn up in another book, they'd have to be revised to include ... actual plot points. Some of you may remember the posts about babies "not being romantic" from a while back. I did talk to the publisher, and she did agree that what I'd written was fine ... but these old files wouldn't fly, I'm sure.

I was brought up not to waste anything ... so you can read them over the next few days.

Not The End

Randy Detweiler eased his pickup into a parking spot by the rec center at Pine Hills Park and checked his watch. Only an hour later than he said he'd be. He locked his truck and started across the parking lot. The smell of barbeque smoke and grilling hot dogs and burgers told him he hadn't missed dinner. He jumped down from the cab and hustled across the lot to the food tent. Two more minutes wouldn't matter, and he was starving.

He worked his way down the buffet line and surveyed the picnic tables set up on the soccer field. Not as big a crowd as in previous years. Budget cuts, he suspected. Too many good people let go in all departments, or their hours cut so they had to work two jobs. Still, he appreciated the town's efforts to say thanks to its public servants. He spotted Sarah sitting with Colleen McDonald, one of his colleagues. They sat, heads together, engrossed in conversation.

"Sorry I'm late," Randy said. With admirable restraint, he kissed her upturned cheek. He set his paper plate heaped with corn, potato salad, baked beans and two burgers on the table beside her. "Group of high school kids thought it would be cool to have an impromptu party by the river."

The smile Sarah flashed turned his insides to jelly. And other parts the opposite. "Not a problem. Mac has been filling me in on some of your cases."

Randy glared at Colleen. Her green eyes twinkled back at him.

"Really?" he said. "And what kind of lies have you been telling my wife?" Wife. Eighteen months now, and he still felt that bong in his chest when he said the word.

Read the rest on my website.

As for yesterday's POV posts -- the scene in the book is the one from Sarah's POV. She's got the most at stake. All Randy really wants is to get laid. Sarah's been having the second thoughts about the relationship, so she's got a lot more conflict. Will she be breaking off the relationship? If so, shouldn't she be telling Randy? Is it 'right' to sleep with him if she's having these doubts.

Remember - leave a comment on any countdown post for a chance to win a download.

Counting Down to Hidden Fire Day 3

What I'm reading: The Enemy by Lee Child

Point of View. What is it? Does it matter?

Deciding who's telling the story, or even a scene, is one of the most important aspects of writing. I know it was my first lesson. At the time I was clueless. When I starting writing Hidden Fire, I began in Randy's head. Then I rewrote it in Sarah's.

First - from Randy's Point of View

"Did you enjoy the pie, Detective Detweiler?" Randy took his eyes off Sarah long enough to acknowledge the waiter's comment.

"Very much, Tony. Thanks." Tony refilled Randy's coffee cup and whisked away the empty plate. Randy's eyes returned to Sarah, who was still working on her dessert, doing his best to maintain a casual expression.

She brought the spoon, loaded with chocolate mousse, to her lips. Under the table, her toes found the cuff of his pants and inched their way up his calf. Damn, she'd been wearing shoes when they'd come in. Sensible work pumps. Randy imagined her toes, nails polished in demure pink, a silver ring on the second toe, continuing north. He clenched his jaw, glancing around the restaurant, certain everyone could tell he'd been out of town and womanless for weeks. No, not womanless. Sarahless. There had been plenty of women in San Francisco, but not one of them appealed to him the way the woman sitting across the booth in a poorly lit small-town restaurant did.

Even in the dim light, he saw the splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her stone blue eyes reflected the glimmer of the standard restaurant candle-in-a-jar on the table.

To the casual onlooker, Sarah Tucker appeared to be a demure businesswoman, looking exactly like a woman who spent her days running a small gift boutique. But over the past few months, he'd gotten to know the other side—the warm, sensuous side—of one of Pine Hills' shopkeepers.

She wore a navy-blue blazer over a pale blue silk blouse. Beneath the table, her practical pants hid what he knew was a pair of attractive, well-shaped legs. He'd already noticed the absence of a panty line and wondered what he'd find when he slipped her slacks over her hips.

The mousse-laden spoon bobbed in front of her mouth. With her free hand, Sarah fingered the pearl button at her neck.

"It's warm in here, isn't it?" One button, then a second, slipped through its hole, revealing the tiniest glimpse of the swell of her breasts. He leaned forward, catching a hint of lace.

"You're killing me," he whispered.

Her tongue wrapped around the mousse. Her eyes closed. She sighed.

He shifted in his seat. "You're going to finish that, aren't you?" he asked.

Without opening her eyes, she said, "Every bite. It's chocolate. Some things shouldn't be rushed."

And now, the same scene from Sarah's Point of View

Under the table, Sarah’s toes found the cuff of Randy’s pants and inched their way up his calf, the coarse hair tickling her foot. His eyes widened, his eyebrows arched and the standard restaurant candle-in-a-jar caught the hazel flecks in his otherwise brown eyes. He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, but it flopped back the way it always did.

She smiled at the hovering waiter, placed her hand over her empty coffee cup and shook her head. No more, Tony. Thanks.”

Tony refilled Randy’s coffee cup and whisked away his empty pie plate. Randy’s eyes returned to Sarah, moving between her dessert and her face. He smiled, but she could sense his impatience. She continued her torment by dipping her spoon into the chocolate mousse in front of her. Slowly, carefully, she filled the spoon with the rich delight.

His call had surprised her yesterday, when he announced he’d be coming back from San Francisco a day early. She wriggled her toes higher up his leg, trying not to laugh as he squirmed. She’d chosen her outfit very carefully this morning. Demure didn’t begin to cover it. Prim? Prissy? That was closer. Navy blue slacks, a pale blue silk blouse buttoned to the neck and a navy blazer. Not quite a suit, but close enough. Of course, the thong beneath the slacks and the lace demi-bra under the blouse were anything but prissy. She’d sensed Randy’s eyes on her behind as they walked up the steps to the restaurant. And maybe his hand had slipped a little lower than the small of her back as he’d guided her to their booth.

She poised the mousse-laden spoon in front of her mouth, parting her lips a fraction. With her other hand, she fingered the pearl button at her neck.

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” One button, then a second, slipped through its hole. Randy leaned forward.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered.

Her tongue wrapped around the mousse. Her eyes closed. She sighed.

“You’re going to finish that, aren’t you?” he asked, resignation in his tone.

Without opening her eyes, she said, “Every bite.”

He blew out a long, slow breath.

She met his gaze and smiled at his obvious annoyance. “It’s chocolate. Some things shouldn’t be rushed.”

Can you see the difference? Which works better, and why?