Excerpts

Excerpt from THEIR STOLEN HEARTS #BookSeries #SeniorSchemes

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STILL IRRITATED AFTER A BAD first date on Sunday afternoon, FBI Agent Ray Anderson tightened his tie and glowered into the bathroom mirror. He had driven over an hour to meet for brunch. She had tried to get information on BennTech’s criminal activities, which, of course, he wouldn’t give out. Then, she received a work text and had to leave.

Right, because research scientists are on call. What’s her problem with me? I’m not Joe Handsome, but who is? I’ve had my share of dates, only some bad. Why did this one irk me so much?

He released those negative thoughts like his self-help audiobooks suggested and sighed at the sounds of arguing in the kitchen. He could usually block it out while listening through his headphones.

He took out his gun from the lockbox in the top dresser drawer. As he added it to his hip, he listened to doors slamming from the hallway. Atop his dresser, the purple clay octopus the size of his fist slid to the edge. His niece, Kami, had made it for him when she and his sister, Julie, had moved in with him ten years ago. Kami was five at the time.

Ray had had Julie’s boyfriend arrested for attempted murder on the night Julie had decided to leave him. The bastard didn’t take it well and had almost choked her to death. Kami had nightmares since, that her father was trying to kill her, too. Ray helped them through it. The purple octopus paperweight was a thank-you gift from Kami, who’d made it in her first-grade art class. Ray liked its long thick arms bent in all directions, as if moving around. It was his prized possession and a reminder that his FBI job ultimately protected families.

Presently, Ray was used to playing referee between his sister and her now-teenage daughter. But he didn’t feel like doing it that day. He had dedicated his life to his sister and niece, putting his love life on hold to take care of them. Any woman he was remotely interested in, Julie hated. He wanted to share a relaxing conversation over a meal with someone who wasn’t a drama queen like the two women he currently lived with.

Ray took a deep breath and opened his bedroom door. He drifted into the kitchen. Dirty plates, cups, and pans cluttered the countertops. Women are slobs. He stuck a bagel into the toaster and put the dishes into the empty dishwasher. They had this discussion often. Just put your damn dishes into the washer instead of the sink. When another bedroom door slammed, he winced and waited for the explosion.

“I am a woman,” Kami shouted from the hallway. “I’m old enough to date!”

“Fifteen is not a woman,” Julie bellowed. “You can’t drive or vote!”

“Menstruating is a sign of womanhood,” Kami shrieked.

Oh, boy. Wishing he could sneak out the backdoor, he put cream cheese on his bagel and waited. It didn’t take long.

“Ray,” Julie said in the doorway, “tell her she’s too young.”

“I need more information first,” he stated, before taking a big bite of his breakfast. Staying neutral is my protection. He leaned back against the counter.

“More information? She’s fifteen!”

“I’d like to hear his questions, Mother,” Kami said with a smug smile.

“Fine.” Julie’s glare could have burned his bagel.

He took another bite and checked the wall clock. Damn. He still had time before he left for the office. With hands on their hips, they stood next to each other and waited. Both women were thin and tall, Kami more gangly then her mother. Tall and thin ran in the Anderson family.

Kami had started volleyball practice and was constantly complaining she was sore, also the reason she couldn’t do her chores. Julie worked the second shift at the local IHOP. Ray and his colleague, Tim Orr, had had her as their waitress once. She got their orders wrong, not even close.

“Who’s the boy? Where does he want to take you?” Ray asked.

“It’s Spenser. And we were going with a group to see a movie,” Kami replied.

“You didn’t tell me it was with a group of kids,” Julie said, scowling.

“You didn’t ask, Mother. You just yell,” she replied. “You always yell.”

“Because you don’t hear me otherwise!”

Ray put his knife in the dishwasher. He’d get coffee on the way. As the yelling ramped up again, he withdrew from the kitchen. Kami and Julie stormed past him and slammed their bedroom doors. They would tie for first place in a door slamming contest. Twice he’d had to adjust their doors’ hinges.

Feeling a nagging headache coming on, he opened his bedroom to retrieve his backpack. His purple octopus was on the floor, arms broken into pieces.

“God damn it!” He silenced their ranting behind their closed doors.

Knowing he rarely lost his temper, Julie and Kami opened theirs to see what had happened. Ray picked up the pieces. He stomped into the kitchen and chucked them into the garbage.

“Sorry,” Julie whispered.

“Me, too,” Kami added.

“Not good enough. I loved that octopus, and now it’s trash. Work. It. Out. And I expect a clean kitchen when I get home.”

He slammed the garage door on the way to his Corvette, his guilty red pleasure. He wanted to peel out, but didn’t. Damn it. I really loved that dumb paperweight.

Their Stolen Hearts Available on AMAZON

Excerpt from THE MAJOR’S DILEMMA #MilitaryThriller #FamilyVsDuty #MilitaryRomance

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LOGAN AND SAMANTHA RODE THEIR tandem bike from the cabin two miles outside Yellow Springs to Donna’s Diner. In a t-shirt, jeans, and work boots, Logan steered toward the parking lot. The humidity didn’t seem to affect Sam behind him.

In an oversized zippered hoodie, his wife smiled up at him with her mesmerizing eyes, one green and the other cobalt blue. He adored that grin and the freckles across her face. Wearing sandals and shorts, she hid her four-month baby bump.

They wanted to keep the secret for as long as possible. The gossip chain in their rural town was expansive. Since their notoriety last summer, they fiercely protected their privacy.

Stopping next to the other bikes on the sunny day, they headed for the diner. “I hope the smells don’t make me barf,” Sam said.

“The books say you shouldn’t have morning sickness anymore.” He had gotten the books at the library in Sebright, the next town over. Their doctor was also in Sebright, giving them slightly more privacy.

“So, because you read it in a book, you’re dismissing what I’m feeling?”

He winced. It wasn’t the first time she’d said it. “I’m just saying, the morning sickness should stop soon.”

Pausing on the sidewalk, she put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m sorry I still have it, morning, noon, and night.” Tearing up, she stormed toward the diner.

He sighed and followed. Crying over anything and everything seemed to be the biggest issue for her. The books never said how to combat these symptoms. Just hormones, he thought. When she turned and glared at him, he smiled innocently. Is reading minds a pregnancy superpower?

He held the door open for her then held his breath. Depending on the smells, they may stay or immediately leave. He hoped they would stay, since they were supposed to be meeting his co-worker, Jack Parker, for lunch.

He and Jack had lunch a few times in Sebright where Jack lived, but Jack suggested meeting them in Yellow Springs. This was the first time Samantha would be joining them.

Logan waited for his wife to decide. She nodded as Donna, the diner’s new owner, waved them to a square table in the corner away from the bakery counter of breads, donuts, and muffins. Logan ignored the old-fashioned diner motif of plastic red-and-white checkered tablecloths with black-and-white pictures on the walls.

With the air conditioning on high, Sam shivered as she slid onto the chair. One minute she was hot; another, cold. His strict military background had a hard time adjusting to her random symptoms that seemed to change within a heartbeat. Not quite a war zone where his quick reflexes were needed. Although, some days …

“Just the two of you today?” Donna asked.

“One more,” Logan replied.

She set down three menus. “Let’s see. Coke for the major. Iced tea for you, Ms. Sam?”

“Yes, please,” she said. Donna nodded, then grabbed the dirty dishes from the table next to them.

“Caffeine?” he asked. As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.

“Your drink has it, too,” she replied as one of her five-year-old dance students, wearing a rainbow tutu over a green shirt and orange shorts, approached her. “Emma, are you ready for dance classes to start?”

Emma nodded and did a quick ball-chain to prove it. “I’ve been practicing all summer.”

With her long blond hair in a high, tight ponytail, Emma’s overly tan mom stood behind her. “She sure has. Tapping from dusk ’til dawn on our hardwood floors.”

Sam laughed. “I can’t wait to see how you’ve progressed.”

Emma beamed and gave Sam a brief hug. “See you soon,” Emma said, taking her mother’s hand.

Logan lowered his voice as Emma and her mother left the restaurant. “Are you up for teaching?” Her classes were scheduled to start in two weeks.

“It’s my job, and I enjoy it.” She sat back as Donna set their drinks on the table.

“We’ll order when Jack gets here,” Logan said. Donna nodded, then rushed away to help the customers in line at the bakery counter.

“Logan, will you stop being overly protective? I’m not the first woman to have a baby.”

“You’re the first woman to have my baby.”

She snorted. “I’d better be.”

He patted her hand as Jack approached their table, smoothing down the baggy t-shirt on his thin frame. Logan smiled that Jack had a fresh haircut and clean shave. He had looked forward to meeting Sam.

Logan stood and shook Jack’s sweaty hand. “I’m glad you made it. Sam, this is Jack Parker. Jack, my wife.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Sam said. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” Jack replied, easing down onto the chair as if afraid he’d miss it and fall on the floor.

“Logan tells me you’re a hi-lo driver at the distribution center. My dad let me drive one once. I backed into one of the five-foot-high shelves at the base. I knocked over four of them like a domino chain reaction.”

Jack laughed. “It takes practice.”

“Jack’s maneuvering is second nature. A skill and talent,” Logan added.

Seeming uncomfortable with the compliment, Jack bounced his knee under the table. He played with the corner of his menu. “I met your father once,” Jack said to Sam.

“Really? When?” Sam asked.

Oh, boy, Logan thought. Anytime Sam’s father, General Steven Randall, was brought up, Sam teared up and cried, full-on snot sobs. She still missed him. Going on three years now.

“He came to the high school here in Yellow Springs when I was a freshman, and talked about how tough it is to distinguish between right from wrong.” He set his hands on his lap and rubbed his damp palms on his jeans. “I should have listened better.”

“Hey,” Logan said, “you made mistakes and made amends.”

Jack looked over at Sam. “He told you I sold drugs and did time?”

With pen and pad, Donna stopped at their table. After writing down their order of burgers and a Coke for Jack, she quickly left as more people lined up at the bakery counter.

“He did,” Sam said, “and he also told me you got your GED while there. That, to me, takes dedication, because you have to learn everything on your own.” She unzipped her hoodie, then put her hands around her glass of iced tea. She used the condensation around the glass to cool her face.

Jack sat up straighter and nodded. “I still read a lot of different books.”

“That’s great,” Logan said, happy to hear Jack speaking positively about his life these days.

“Wait. You went to high school here?” Sam asked, leaning forward, her belly hiding under the table.

“Yeah, for a while,” Jack said.

“Did you ever have Mr. Smith for English?” Sam asked, sliding her fingers into the sleeves of her hoodie.

Logan noticed that, in just a few seconds, her body radiated heat then shivered from a chill. I don’t understand it at all.

“Yeah,” Jack said, “he loved Shakespeare. I hated reading those plays aloud in class.”

Sam laughed and turned to Logan. “He’d split up the parts to everyone in class and then we’d read it like putting on the play from our desks.”

Grinning, Jack nodded. “I liked Mr. Miller for science. He showed us all these cool experiments. He once had us repeat the animal classifications over and over until we had them memorized. I still remember: kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species.”

“Family, genus, species,” she finished with him. “Me, too, and all the girls had crushes on him.”

“Did you?” Logan asked, enjoying their memories. Much different than his high school experience.

“Of course; he was cute. Jack, did you have Mr. Bale for P.E. in middle school?”

“Oh, yeah, he was so mean. I ran so many laps,” Jack said.

Nodding, Sam turned again to Logan. “Mr. Bale made us play cutthroat dodgeball, a mix of boys and girls on each team. The boys whipped the balls so hard I had bruises. The losing team had to run laps up and down the bleachers all the way around the gym.”

“Wow, it sounds a lot like Bear when I was in basic training,” Logan added. Barrett worked this scrawny kid hard.

Donna and her teen waitress-in-training set their food in front of them. Sam took a big, juicy bite of her cheeseburger. Rolling her eyes, it appeared she was savoring it. Hesitant at first, Jack saw Sam eating with gusto then dug into his. Logan focused on his food as well, giving them a lull in the conversation.

The diner still had a line all the way to the door for the baked goods, and every table remained occupied. Since the change in ownership, the diner became the most popular place for locals. Sam seemed to like the smell of greasy grilled burgers and fresh bread. Thank God.

Jack wiped his mouth. “So did you have a good vacation in D.C.?” Jack asked, before sipping his Coke.

“Yeah, it was good seeing my mother and stepfather,” Sam said.

Logan nodded. “Sam’s mother, Martha, is married to the Russian Ambassador, Dmitri Demas.”

Martha had been over the moon to learn that Samantha was pregnant. Dmitri was even more excited. He’d always had a tender spot for Sam. He loved her as his own. Although Sam had chosen to live with her father in Yellow Springs, she had spent part of her summers growing up in D.C.

“Oh, wow, that’s cool,” Jack said. “Do you know Russian?”

“A few words,” she said. “My mother speaks it fluently. In fact, they’re flying to Russia in a couple days to visit Dmitri’s mother and his sisters.”

“I always wanted to travel,” Jack said, looking at his plate as if surprised it was empty.

“Where would you like to go?” Logan asked, eating his last French fry.

“Anywhere away from here. A fresh start where nobody knows me.”

Before Logan could add his own fantasy getaway, Jack glanced at the front entrance and stiffened. Their relaxing lunch suddenly held a truckload of tension. Sam must have felt it, too. She looked to where Jack was staring. Officer George Biggs, in his mid-fifties, stood in the long line.

Logan had heard Barrett and a few others call him “Biggie,” and understood it referred just as much to his hefty girth as it did his last name. Biggs had joined the police force in Yellow Springs the previous year, giving the town a total of three cops. Logan knew all of this because the gossip chain usually started with Barrett.

Biggs surveyed the room. His eyes stopped at Jack and their table before scanning the rest of the packed diner.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Logan said, hoping to ease Jack’s obvious anxiety of law enforcement.

“I know,” Jack said, looking away.

Clearly impatient, Officer Biggs skipped the line and walked straight up to the counter, demanding his order. Irked at Biggs’s attitude, Logan narrowed his eyes. The young waitress-in-training quickly put his order in a bag. Biggs walked out without paying. When he left, all the tension in the room seemed to leave with him. Jack appeared to relax.

“Entitled jerk,” Sam said, tearing up. “Did you see the way he intimidated that poor girl? That makes me so angry.” She balled her hands into fists.

Jack nodded but remained silent. Sam’s maternal instincts must have kicked in. She had become motherly to anyone younger than herself. The teen waitress qualified.

Logan took their bill and slid back his chair. “I’ll be right back.”

He found the spot at the end of the line while Sam and Jack chatted. By the time he got to the counter, the teenage girl returned from the back. Next to her, Donna reassured her. Logan paid and signed the tip on his credit card. He then slipped twenty dollars into the teen’s tip jar next to the register.

Her eyes widened. “Thank you.”

Logan nodded and met his wife and Jack by the entrance. He hoped the teen would focus on the tip rather than on Biggs’s rudeness.

Sam stopped outside the door. “Jack, we’re grilling steaks tomorrow. Would you like to join us?”

Jack smiled. “At your house?”

Sam laughed. “Well, yeah, that’s where our grill is.”

“Sure, and thanks for lunch,” he said, holding out his hand to shake Sam’s. Instead, she gave him a brief hug. Seeming surprised by the gesture, he turned pink.

Logan set his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “See you at noon? You know where we live?”

Jack nodded, shaking Logan’s hand. “Everyone knows where you live.”

They watched Jack walk to his dirty white Olds Cutlass in the parking lot. Sam took Logan’s hand as families passed them on the sidewalk.

“That went well,” Logan said, squeezing her hand. “I didn’t know we were grilling tomorrow.”

“I’m craving more meat like a thick, juicy steak,” Sam said.

“I must have sympathy pains. I crave that, too. And I’m kinda hungry for ice cream now.”

“You’ve read my mind,” she said, smiling.

The Major’s Dilemma Available on AMAZON

Excerpt from THE TRUCKER’S CAT #RomanticThriller #MilitaryRomance

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In the Name of Family Series Book 1

SAMANTHA RANDALL FLIPPED OFF THE light in her bedroom and stepped onto the second-story stone balcony overlooking the embassy grounds in Washington D.C. Lilacs and classical Russian music permeated throughout the patio garden where a group of diplomats visited during the evening gathering.

Sam spotted her mother on the arm of her husband of eleven years, Ambassador Dmitri Demas, near the trimmed hedges. With perfectly coiffed, sandy brown hair and pristine makeup, her mother had the stature of a queen. Like royalty, Martha ruled her daughter and the staff. She expected excellence and saved her affection for rare occasions.

Bald and pudgy, Dmitri had a round face with rosy cheeks, either from alcohol or happiness. Although highly intelligent in political matters, he reminded Sam of Humpty Dumpty. Always happy, never uttering a cross word, he loved Martha and relied on her opinions in social settings.

Looking past the other people, Samantha scanned the embassy grounds. The bright green leaves of the closest trees within the patio lighting and the dark foliage behind it would give her enough coverage for her escape plan. Glancing below, she blew out a breath. She pushed her fear aside as her father, General Steven Randall, had taught his soldiers to do when confronted by life-threatening events, such as patrolling hostile regions, evacuating from hot landing zones, or falling thirty feet onto Martha’s prize-winning rosebushes.

In her black leggings, turtleneck, and leather dance slippers, Sam stuffed a strand of her long blond hair back under her black Scottish cap. She set her backpack in the corner and climbed onto the wide stone railing. Inhaling the cool air of the Memorial Day weekend, she looked into the starry sky.

“Daddy, I hope you have my back,” she whispered.

Sam leapt with the agility of a cat to the neighboring dark balcony four feet away. A light shone from the third upper semicircle. Slinking along the edge, she heard Colonel Seth Williams mumbling unintelligibly to Karl Petrov, the ambassador’s assistant, through the open doors of the next balcony over.

She sprang to the railing of Karl’s office. She had tried to stay away from creepy Karl, especially after their recent encounter. Although it was a necessity, she winced at the thought of his rough manner. With her back against the gray stone building, she balanced on the edge to hear their conversation.

“She doesn’t understand,” Colonel Williams said.

Karl laughed. “This says different, and it’s your fault.”

Sam peeked through the open French doors. With his black hair slicked into a short ponytail, Karl held a flash drive in his hand. She shivered at his seventies-style tan suit and pointed collar. Tufts of chest hair peeked out. His gaudy gold Rolex matched the thick chain around his neck. He was the bad guy from every Charlie’s Angels rerun, one of her dad’s favorite shows.

Sergei, Karl’s shorter clone lackey, had his back to the French doors, and her. Tall and in uniform, Colonel Williams would have stood at attention if not for the slight lean against his spiral mahogany cane.

“You will remain on the grounds,” Karl said.

“You can’t keep me hostage here,” the colonel said.

Karl pointed the flash drive at him. “This says I can. Are we clear?”

The colonel scowled and limped from the room. Sam leaned in, farther straining to see Karl type in the code to the wall safe. After putting the flash drive inside, he shut the safe door, then turned off the light.

“He’s under our control now,” Karl said to Sergei as they left the room.

After waiting a full minute, Sam dropped to the balcony floor and scanned the party below. Karl escorted Jillian Williams, the colonel’s daughter, to the corner of the patio by the shrubbery.

With ample breasts, thin waist, and thick blond hair, Jillian modeled in sexy swimwear for Maxim and Sports Illustrated. Karl whispered in her ear and Jillian feigned surprise, then nodded with a sly smile. Her long, manicured fingers touched his forearm, and he drew her closer. Sam cringed. Jillian could have him.

Dismissing Jillian and Karl, Sam slipped into the room that smelled of stale cigars. Bruno, Karl’s Doberman, growled from his cage next to the carved oak desk. She shivered as he stared.

After taking a beef stick from the box on the shelf, she slowly pushed the treat between the bars. Grateful that Bruno munched on the beef and not her, she quickly found Karl’s keys in his cigar box and unlocked the center drawer behind his desk.

Pulling out the top file, she feverishly scribbled down the information of the truck route on the nearby pad. She’d detail it later when she had more time. Hearing footsteps down the corridor, she shoved the file back and ducked behind the brown leather sofa. Telling herself that this was bigger than her pride, she stripped off her clothes and tucked the paper into the bottom of her dance shoe. As the door opened, she pulled off the cap and smoothed down her hair.

“Who’s in here?” Karl demanded.

“I am,” Sam replied, popping up naked from behind the couch. “I was waiting for you.”

He laughed. “I’m too busy right now, my cтранный кошка. I have bigger game to hunt.”

“You mean Jillian?” she asked.

He laughed again. “Yes, a model’s body. I’m curious to see what’s underneath that icy exterior.”

“I’m guessing more ice.”

“You sound jealous, my pet,” he said, taking his keys—the ones she had just returned—from the cigar box. He twirled the key ring on his index finger. “You can’t compete with Jillian. It’s a fact.” He lifted her chin and tweaked her plum-size breast. She tried not to flinch at his touch. “I’ll come to your room in the morning. You can amuse me more then. Now, scat before Dmitri or your mother sees you in here,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

Relieved that he didn’t stay, she quickly dressed. With her cap in hand, she left through the door and glided to her bedroom two doors down. She had no time to dwell on the past.

Feeling the paper in her shoe, she tucked her hair back under her cap and strode out to her balcony. The music and laughter continued as she grabbed her backpack. She shimmied down the ivy latticework along the shadowed edge of the patio lights.

Hidden among the trees and bushes, she crept beside the tall stone wall that surrounded the compound. A security guard walked by. Holding her breath, she froze behind a fat maple. She waited and eyed the nearest security camera. From scouting earlier, she knew where every camera was located. Planning is essential, her father had said.

When the guard moved on, she climbed the tree, keeping away from the camera. Sitting sideways on a branch, she scooted to the end that hung over the wall. Her petite frame bent the branch slightly. Like a loving father, the tree gently lowered its child to safety on the ground. She whispered a thank-you and hurried to the bus stop.

On its last run of the night, the metro bus dropped her off at the Greyhound terminal. While standing in line, she casually slipped her cell phone into the handbag of the elderly lady in front of her. The woman and her friend were heading to Las Vegas. Sam’s one-way ticket would take her to Topeka, Kansas.

Since the bus didn’t leave until morning, Sam walked to the dilapidated motel across the street. Standing straighter and hopefully taller, she opened the office door. An old hippie with a long white mustache like Yosemite Sam checked her out through the bulletproof glass above the counter.

“I’d like a room for the night,” she said.

He grinned and scooted his stool closer to the counter. “You alone?”

Averting her eyes, she shook her head. “My boyfriend’s outside smoking,” she replied, sliding two twenties in the gap between the glass and counter.

“He’s making you pay?” he asked, stroking one of his mustache handles.

“He’s worth it.”

He shrugged and pushed a key on a lime green triangular fob to room twelve toward her. “The ice machine’s broken and make sure you keep the noise down.”

Without a word, Sam hurried to the last door of the one-story, moss-covered building. Once inside, she locked it, set the chain, and pushed the desk chair under the knob. She shivered and hoped she wasn’t starring in some new slasher movie.

After calming her breathing, she set her backpack on the lumpy bed that appeared as if the maid had simply thrown the bedspread over the top without laundering the sheets. The worn La-Z-Boy was more inviting. But she didn’t want to think about that now. Instead, she took out a box of hair dye and a pair of scissors from her backpack.

After setting the items on the edge of the bathroom sink, she stared in the mirror. “There’s no going back, Sam. You need to finish this. You have no choice.”

She started cutting. One-and-a-half-foot strands of blond hair fell into the sink. Feeling empowered, she chopped, trimmed, then smiled at her new soft locks.

“Who would have guessed my hair would have some body to it?” It shouldn’t have surprised her, though. Her father’s hair had been wavy and thick.

After reading the instructions, Sam colored the blond to a reddish brown. Using gel, she spiked it into wafts of curls. She admired her new look with her one blue eye and one green eye.

“I am a freakish cat, a cтранный кошка.”

After triple-checking the locked door, she curled up in the La-Z-Boy chair and unfolded the piece of paper from her shoe. The truck would start in Maryland and head west with specific stops toward its destination.

Her bus would follow the same route. If she played her cards right, she would find it before the end of the route since the bus and truck would be leaving at the same time. Her biggest concern now was how to recognize the truck and the driver.

The Trucker’s Cat Available on AMAZON

A Dance and a Kiss Jolt Their Fate

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“. . . Keeping Madeline in his arms, Joe guided her into an East Coast Swing. He found it refreshing that she knew the steps. Not many of the women he’s dated did. He had to work extra hard to maneuver them around the dance floor. It got to the point where he just didn’t bother dancing. Now, he realized how much he missed it or maybe he finally found the right partner.

Madeline’s eyes sparkled as he spun her around. He winced at how much he liked making her smile. What the hell! Focus, damn it! Don’t get carried away!”

***

“. . . In a formal dance position, Madeline shivered slightly at Joe’s warm hand on her waist. His other holding hers set a wave of heat to her face. She craved more of his touch. She gently squeezed his bicep and shoulder. Even through his suit jacket, she felt his taut muscles.

She inhaled his cologne mixed with his sweat from drumming earlier. He oozed a chemical attraction. As a neuroscientist, she had read about the effects of pheromones. Fascinated, she wanted to lean in closer to taste his neck. She blinked and stiffened slightly. Calm down! Joe was here officially as an agent of the FBI. And she would not become one of those women in his phone. It didn’t surprise her that Joe knew how to dance. She supposed it was another way of impressing women. And, damn, if it wasn’t working. . . .”

***

Learn more about their romance

in my stand-alone thriller Chemical Attraction

Courage, Strength, and Unconditional Love

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What is the ultimate gift?

Cool off with a frosty New Year’s Eve Chapter One excerpt from The Garden Collection, a story of courage, strength, and unconditional love.  I’ve posted the New Year’s Eve Prologue to this sweet romance a few years ago. If you prefer to start there, here’s the LINK.  Enjoy.

 

Friday, December 31st – Present Day

Standing behind the counter at Mason’s Diner, Brianna Carlson waited for Henry Mason to pass her orders through the grill window. The breakfast and lunch crowd had her running. Now, the late lunchers filled only three of the ten stools at the counter and two of the eight booths along the windows.

Her half-sister Chloe’s paper snowflakes covered all of the windows as if another blizzard had hit town. Multi-color Christmas lights blinked around the window frames. By the cash register next to the counter, a two-foot-high fake Christmas tree held so many of Chloe’s homemade ornaments the patrons couldn’t see the branches.

Catching her breath, Brianna stared at the poster behind the register and smiled. Lucy had suggested Bree put her own doodle sketches to good work and enter the competition to design the New Year’s Eve Gala poster. Out of one hundred applicants, she won. She had drawn dark snowy woods where the old trees have snarled branches. The trees’ arthritic fingers reach for the sparkling red box with a bright white bow that illuminates the small clearing. The caption reads What is the Ultimate Gift?

Bree was proud of herself and so were the regulars at the diner. They celebrated her excitement by encouraging her to attend the gala. As the winner, she received one hundred dollars and a ticket to the party. She had saved her money for three weeks to buy a dress with matching purse and shoes.

“Bree, your order’s up,” Henry yelled from behind the grill. She saw only his eyes and the top of his bandana-covered baldhead through the open window.

The retired men along the counter chuckled. “Are you daydreaming again, Cinderella?” Charlie asked as he took off his baseball cap that had covered his thinning gray fringe.

Blushing, she laughed. “Maybe I’ll find my Prince Charming tonight,” she replied, picking up the BLT and cheeseburger platters.

George unrolled his silverware from his napkin. “Are you ever going to tell us what’s in the red box from your poster?”

She set Charlie’s BLT in front of him and grabbed the ketchup from under the counter. “What do you think is in the box?” she asked, handing George the bottle for his burger and fries.

“Money?” George asked.

“How about keys to a yacht?” Charlie added.

“I know what’s in the box,” Chloe said from the end of the counter. Her long brown hair in a thick braid matched her big sister’s. Chloe bit into a French fry and grinned.

“Well, my sweet one, please share with us,” Bev Mason said from behind the cash register. With her wrinkled smile, she played the elder matron with ease.

Chloe looked at her. “Can I tell them?”

Bree laughed and nodded. “I always thought it was obvious,” she said, absently touching her gold locket tucked under her Mason’s Diner t-shirt.

“Tell us right now,” George demanded. He winked at Chloe as he wiped his mouth.

“It’s love, sillies. I can’t believe you never guessed it.”

“Oh, and you’re a genius?” Bev asked

“I’ve gotten all excellent marks so far in first grade,” Chloe stated.

Brianna nodded. “You have a lot of wonderful tutors,” she said, glancing at her work family.

Chloe had grown up on that stool. They had put her name on it. Bree felt blessed that Bev and Henry let her work and care for Chloe at the same time. Over the years, the regulars had taken turns keeping her occupied. She and Chloe had many aunts and uncles.

As the men teased Chloe that they had made her smart, Officer Eddie Kent stomped his feet inside the door. In his dark blue uniform and auburn crew cut, he sat at the opposite end of the counter. Having known Eddie since they were in kindergarten, Bree greeted him with his usual glass of milk.

“It’s not ready yet?” he asked.

She frowned. “I wasn’t sure you were working today. I’ll get right on it.”

Bree quickly entered the kitchen and helped Henry with the order of rare steak and scrambled eggs with a side of raw onions and garlic toast. Eddie ate it every day he worked. Superstitious about his job, he said it kept him safe. For the last year, that’s all he ate. She carefully set his plates in front of him. She had learned not to stand too close afterward.

“Bree, don’t worry. I’m here if you need anything,” Eddie said, reaching for the knife.

“What?”

“Kent! I will explain it,” Chief Mason said, taking up the entire doorway.

Brianna looked at Cameron Mason, the Chief of Rushing for the last ten years. With his bushy brown mustache, he reminded her of a young Sam Elliott from the Western movies. He had the deep voice like him, too. All he needed was a cowboy hat. Bev and Henry were proud of him and his profession although Bev hoped he’d marry soon. She wanted grandbabies.

Bree thought of him as an overly protective big brother. Since she didn’t have a car or a license for that matter, he’d give them a ride occasionally across town to their tiny loft apartment. He also lectured her on safety. She and Chloe paid attention to all of his rules.

Chief Mason smoothed down his thick mustache with his thumb and finger and pointed her to the end booth. His business-like manner unnerved her. With a hand over her stomach, she sat.

He stopped Chloe from jumping off her stool. “Stay put. I want to talk to Bree in private.”

“Cam, what’s wrong?” she asked as he sat across from her.

“I just found out Wayne got parole.”

She gasped. “When?”

“He’ll be released tomorrow. Because of overcrowding, he’s being let out earlier than I had expected. There was nothing I could do.”

“Oh, God.” She placed her shaking hands on her lap. Chloe stared at her reaction. “Do you think he’ll come back here?” she whispered.

“I honestly don’t know. Follow my rules, Bree. They’ll keep you safe. If you see him anywhere in town, call my cell,” he said, pulling out his card.

She stopped him. “I still have it memorized.”

Cam nodded and left for the kitchen to talk to his father. She stared out the window at the two fresh inches of snow. What should she do? Wayne’s letters from prison promised to take Chloe away from her. She had no legal rights. Could he come back and reclaim his daughter? She would not let that happen. He would never lay a hand on Chloe. Bree had taken the brunt for years so he wouldn’t hurt her.

Chloe knew next to nothing about her father. Bree had told her that he was in jail because he had hurt them. Bree had preached taking responsibility for your actions since Chloe could talk.

Chloe thought it was like being grounded for doing something naughty. That pretty much summed it up. Although Bree didn’t think Wayne would learn anything from the experience except more contempt toward her for putting him there. He would return to make her suffer. She had to leave. She jumped as Chloe slid in next to her.

“Bree, what’s the matter?

She hugged her. “Nothing for you to worry about, my sweet Clover,” she said, nudging her out of the booth. “I have to get back to work.”

While she made plans in her head, she absently cleared the tables. While carrying the tub of dirty dishes, she banged her shin into the metal cart behind the counter. The tub crashed to the floor. Plates and mugs shattered. With tears in her eyes, she rushed to clean the mess. This usually happened when she was stressed or tired. With partial blindness in her left eye and a limp from a healed broken leg, her coordination sometimes made her clumsy.

Eddie Kent laughed as he finished his meal. “Bev, have you run out of plates yet?”

Bree looked up at her. “I’m sorry.”

Bev smiled. “Honey, it’s an hour past your shift. We know it’s not your fault. Why don’t you and Chloe take off? Tonight’s the big night.”

As she put the last broken plate in the tub, she slid it to the side and stood. Charlie grinned and asked, “You’ll save me a dance?”

“I’m first in line. She promised me yesterday,” George added.

Bree smiled as they tried to cheer her up. “Only if you can recognize me. It’s a masquerade ball after all.”

She helped Chloe with her coat, hat, and mittens. Stepping outside, she took a deep breath. They would make a run for it. They’d hide, and Wayne would eventually give up looking. With a purpose, she reached for her sister’s hand.

“Bree, do you want a ride?” Eddie asked, absently patting the gun at his side.

Resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at his horrid breath, she shook her head. “We have errands. Thank you though.”

Bree gently tugged Chloe’s hand down the street. They had three stops before she dropped Chloe off with Lucy, who was recuperating from a sprained ankle. Luckily, the stops were in order of the direction they were going. Chloe shuffled her boots through the snow on the sidewalk and sang “Let it Snow.”

After closing out her savings account with one hundred and twenty-six dollars, she pulled open the door to the pawnshop. The stifling heat hit them in the face as they wiped their boots on the rug just inside the door. She spotted Gus Fuller wearing a Santa hat. He had played Santa at the diner’s Christmas party. With a long white beard, he fit the part perfectly.

Bree sighed. “I need to talk to Gus for a moment. Do you want to wander around?” Chloe nodded and headed for the stack of board games while Bree met him at the counter. “I’d, uh, like to see what I can get for this,” she said, slipping her precious locket over her head.

Gus turned it in his hand. “This is a high-end piece. I’d say it’s worth about two grand. I can only give you five hundred, but Donovan’s Jewelry may give you more.”

She groaned. Robert had spent too much money on her. Her eyes started to water. She quickly wiped her face. This is about responsibility and survival not sentimental trinkets. She took the locket back from him and stared at it. She wore it all the time and touched it often. She was surprised the etched ivy hadn’t worn off. Finally nodding, she set it back on the counter. She had to protect Chloe. As she tucked the money into her wallet, Chloe joined her with a magic kit.

“Bree, do we have extra for this? It’s three dollars,” Chloe said.

Gus smiled. “It’s yours for a hug.”

Chloe laughed and ran around the counter. After paying with a hug, she kissed his cheek and tugged his beard. “Thanks, Gus.”

With slouched shoulders, Brianna moved toward the door.

“Bree, take care of yourself,” Gus said quietly.

She wanted to grab her locket and run. Instead, she limped out the door. There would be no turning back.

The bus station had one last departure at five tonight for Chicago. She didn’t think they’d have time to pack so she opted for the ten o’clock trip tomorrow morning. She wanted to be selfish and go to the gala. Her one last hurrah.

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A Steamy Kiss

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… Joe spun Madeline around and the song ended. As he dipped her low, her long brown hair brushed the floor. With his face a few inches from hers, she was panting. Lost in his vibrant green eyes, she lifted her head and kissed him. She barely touched his lips, but the nerve endings in hers sent an electrical shock throughout her body. A wave of heat followed. Her body lit up with awareness as if a bolt of lightning shot out from her toes …  ~ Chemical Attraction

“…the Perfect Mix of Mystery, Suspense & Romance…”

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All for One Lousy Hill

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[My dad is the one in the front row far right side.]

“The hill wasn’t a casual slope of tall green grass like the ones at home. The Korean hills had jagged, protruding rock formations with narrow ridges at the top and clusters of leafless bushes throughout the area. The trees had been blown to bits long ago.

We headed to the outpost just below the top along the sub-ridges. Tonight, we supported the Marines surveilling the area. Another squad of Marines patrolled along the valley at the bottom of Reno.

This hill had gone back and forth so many times it had worn areas from mortar fire. The trenches with high sandbag walls were all shot to hell. Razor wire, mines, and booby traps from us and the enemy scattered throughout the valley and hills. Nobody could keep track of it all. It was one big crapshoot.”

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Release Date: May 21st, 2020

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Corpsman Orrin Connor’s faithful letters with a touching twist shield his parents from the horrors of war. His buddy Rawley Armstrong’s poignant letters give his sister the harrowing truths. Throughout their dangerous assignments during the Korean War, they debate the consequences of their choices. Orrin gains comfort in downplaying his experiences while Rawley feels a healing purge. As they get to know the Marines in their charge, the corpsmen gather a variety of opinions. Although Orrin and Rawley disagree, their friendship remains true until the bitter end.

“It all happened within minutes. For some, it would last a lifetime.”

Based on her father’s letters to his parents throughout the Forgotten War, author Christina Thompson has produced this work of historical fiction to pay tribute to Navy corpsmen by remembering their service to their brothers and their country. Imagining her father had guarded his parents from the carnage of war, Christina elaborates on what could have happened while staying true to the dates and experiences her father shared in his actual letters.

 

An Old Set of China

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One of the most surreal moments I had while researching Dearest Mother and Dad was a specific letter my dad wrote to his parents during the Korean War. After his R & R in Kyoto, Japan, he had mentioned he had bought and sent his mother a set of china.

As my mom helped me decipher Dad’s chicken scratch handwriting, I asked her if she knew the set and if she could describe it so I could use it in the story.

“It’s the set of blue and white china with gold trim. You have it,” Mom said.

“Wait. What?”

“She gave it to me when Dad and I married. Then, I gave it to you.”

I had no idea about its history. How crazy is that? I may have to use it more often now.

Here’s a short except from the letter my main character Orrin Connor writes to his parents. (Many of the letters in the novel are my dad’s actual letters.)

 

15 August 1953

Dearest Mother and Dad,

The first thing I did in Japan was see about calling home. They were booked for two weeks ahead of time. I’m so sorry, Mother. I did buy you a set of china and it should reach you in a few weeks. I hope you will like it. Boy, Kyoto was a beautiful place. They had more shrines and temples than you could shake a stick at.

Well, Mother, today was the longest day we have had since I have been in Korea. We have to stay here thirteen months. That means I won’t be leaving until January, maybe longer. The drafts will be frozen over here even though the armistice was signed. Please don’t stop writing.

All the love a son can give,

Orrin

 

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“One hundred and twenty Marines wounded. Eighteen dead. All for one lousy hill.”

 

Corpsman Orrin Connor’s faithful letters with a touching twist shield his parents from the horrors of war. His buddy Rawley Armstrong’s poignant letters give his sister the harrowing truths. Throughout their dangerous assignments during the Korean War, they debate the consequences of their choices. Orrin gains comfort in downplaying his experiences while Rawley feels a healing purge. As they get to know the Marines in their charge, the corpsmen gather a variety of opinions. Although Orrin and Rawley disagree, their friendship remains true until the bitter end.

 

“It all happened within minutes. For some, it would last a lifetime.”

 

Based on her father’s letters to his parents throughout the Forgotten War, author Christina Thompson has produced this work of historical fiction to pay tribute to Navy corpsmen by remembering their service to their brothers and their country. Imagining her father had guarded his parents from the carnage of war, Christina elaborates on what could have happened while staying true to the dates and experiences her father shared in his actual letters.

 

Sneak Peek Part 2 of Dearest Mother and Dad

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Orrin doesn’t want his parents to worry while he’s serving as a corpsman during the Korean War, so he puts a twist on his letters to protect them.  His best friend, Rawley Armstrong, shares everything with his twin sister, so she’ll understand what he’s going through.  Here’s the second excerpt from Dearest Mother and Dad. What type of letter would you write? If you haven’t already, check out the Prologue here.

 

CHAPTER ONE

23 November 1952

Dearest Mother and Dad,

I know you’re disappointed in me for drinking. However, I am not becoming a drunkard and I did not chase after the dance hall girls. In my defense, I just finished eighteen weeks of basic field medical training at Portsmouth, VA and then specialized combat medical training at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio. That’s a lot of studying and it was only a couple of beers.

Mother, you shouldn’t worry. I’m with a great bunch of guys. We always go out as a group, but I will watch out for shady characters wanting to take my money. You should know the Navy doesn’t let us carry a lot of money so even if someone stole my wallet they wouldn’t get much.

Today is our last day of our fifteen-day infantry training with the Marines at Camp Pendleton near San Diego. Sergeant Dixon Mayo, a real nice fellow, said we’ll have an easy peasy day. Then, as a Navy Corpsman, I’ll be part of the Fleet Marine Force.

Enclosed is a picture of me and my buddy Rawley Armstrong. Doesn’t he look like that actor John Wayne from Rio Grande? Rawley acts tough and has a cocky swagger like John Wayne, but he’s a good egg. He did his last run through the obstacle course yesterday. He actually finished before some of the Marines. Anyway, I’ll write more tonight. I don’t want to be late for my turn on the course.

All the love a son can give,

Orrin

Rawley

From the doorway of the barracks overlooking the obstacle course, I crossed my arms and shook my head. Easy peasy, Orrin had said. Rawley, it can’t be that bad, he’d told me.

Well, after my turn yesterday, I tried to warn him. Now, the pounding rain blinded eighteen-year-old Orrin Connor as he crawled through the mud. His herringbone twill uniform, also called dungarees, went from olive drab to wet dirty brown. Two feet above the ground, a canopy of razor wire covered the quarter mile area.

For once, Orrin should be glad for his thin frame. He wiped his face, leaving a stream of dirt dripping down his chin. The firing of Marines’ M1 carbines and Chinese burp guns over his head thundered with the downpour. I, for one, would forever remember those sounds.

Orrin’s weapon dipped in and out of the mud while his medical pouch and three bandoliers periodically caught on the barbed wire. With a dozen Marines around him, he crept across the flooding obstacle course. The squad out-crawled him. Lagging behind, he winced when Sergeant Mayo stomped along the outside edge parallel to him.

I cringed as Mayo took a deep breath. “Connor, move your ass! By God, you’re going to do this and you’re going to like it!”

Short and stocky, the solid mass of a sergeant had a chip on his shoulder. His voice boomed louder than the gunfire. Even with all that yelling, he hadn’t once started the day hoarse.

When a piece of razor wire snagged Orrin’s bag again, he dropped his gun in the muddy water. With a groan, he yanked the medic bag, tearing the strap.

Someone howled, “Corpsman!”

From the barracks, I held my breath and watched Orrin raise his head then push the front of his crooked helmet above his brow. Standing at the end of the course, the Marines pointed to a downed man twenty feet in front of him. Leaving his gun, Orrin kept his medic bag above the mud and moved double-time. Cradling the bag, he knelt beside Alexander Marshall, clutching his shoulder. Orrin and I were slightly annoyed by the chiseled private who was a notorious ladies’ man. The women didn’t seem to mind. They still fawned over him and ignored the rest of us.

The thunder of gunfire abruptly stopped. The heavy showers, however, did not. The saturated Marines waited at the edge to the razor wire course. Using his body, Orrin shielded the wound from the rain. Leaning on the doorway of the barracks glad to be dry, I watched the drama unfold. Metal barbs bit into the back of Orrin’s neck as he worked to access Marshall’s shoulder. I’ve been bitten by those barbs once or twice so I knew it hurt.

“Corpsman! Get him out of there!” Mayo yelled, beet red and pacing into a bigger huff.

Orrin ignored him. Our training had taught us what to do and what not to do for each kind of wound.

Instead of acknowledging the sergeant, Orrin spoke calmly to the wounded man. “I can’t move you yet. First, I need to see what the issue is.”

“Connor! Pull him out! Now!” Mayo roared.

Marshall moved his hand. No wound existed. “Mayo’s test to see how you respond.”

With a nod, Orrin crossed the Marine’s arms on his chest, laying Marshall’s gun at an angle atop him, too. Unable to stand up due to the razor wire, he tugged the collar, moving him an inch in the rising water of the lowland course. The sharp barbs snagged his clothes and his straps, yanking him backward multiple times. He had to fix his crooked helmet often. After twenty minutes, he had only pulled him two feet. I thought Orrin could float him the twenty yards in the pond of mud. Apparently not.

Finally, Sergeant Mayo threw up his hands. “Marshall, out!”

The Marine flipped onto his abdomen, splashing the water, and quickly crawled out. Drenched, Orrin sighed and followed. The sergeant looked as though he was gearing up for a dressing down. We both disliked being yelled at, but then who did?

Exiting the course on his knees, Orrin started to stand, but the razor wire caught his pant leg. I cringed as he lost his balance and fell face first into the mud puddle. That had to be a mouth full of grit.

As soon as he stood up, Sergeant Mayo lit into him. The others waited as if Orrin’s reprimand might make up for their soaked bodies in the downpour that had yet to lessen. I had heard that California’s weather would be all sunshine. What a disappointment! Michigan’s weather was better. At least it had four seasons.

“You’re a Grade-A klutz! How the hell do you expect to save my Marines’ lives, you scrawny squid?” Mayo demanded.

“Adapting,” Orrin replied at attention.

I smiled at his answer. Ignoring the rain, Sergeant Mayo did not smile. He stared at him, dumbfounded by the answer, an answer that he had lectured about from the start of our two-week crash course.

Mayo clenched his jaw. “I hope to God you figure it out before your first patrol.”

“I won’t let them down.”

Mayo walked away, leaving a dozen men standing in the rain, probably wondering if they could finally dry off. As the Marines rushed in my direction, I retreated to the back corner of the rows of bunks, two beds high, and jumped onto the top one. I picked up where I left off in my letter beside a snapshot of my twin. At twenty, my sister had blue eyes like me. I’d have wavy brown hair like hers too, if it wasn’t for my buzz cut.

I spoke my mind here, which got me into trouble. My arms were pretty strong now with all the pushups they made me do. I wouldn’t tolerate stupidity, especially if I was drunk and in a bar with men bigger, dumber, and more muscular than I was. Although he was naïve, Orrin had my back and could be scrappy in a fight like a cornered wolverine. I was a bad influence on him. I thought he liked it, though. Just because we came from different backgrounds didn’t mean we can’t be friends…

 

Preorder your copy of Dearest Mother and Dad

$1.99

Release Date: May 21, 2020

AMAZON

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“One hundred and twenty Marines wounded. Eighteen dead. All for one lousy hill.”

 

Corpsman Orrin Connor’s faithful letters with a touching twist shield his parents from the horrors of war. His buddy Rawley Armstrong’s poignant letters give his sister the harrowing truths. Throughout their dangerous assignments during the Korean War, they debate the consequences of their choices. Orrin gains comfort in downplaying his experiences while Rawley feels a healing purge. As they get to know the Marines in their charge, the corpsmen gather a variety of opinions. Although Orrin and Rawley disagree, their friendship remains true until the bitter end.

 

“It all happened within minutes. For some, it would last a lifetime.”

 

Based on her father’s letters to his parents throughout the Forgotten War, author Christina Thompson has produced this work of historical fiction to pay tribute to Navy corpsmen by remembering their service to their brothers and their country. Imagining her father had guarded his parents from the carnage of war, Christina elaborates on what could have happened while staying true to the dates and experiences her father shared in his actual letters.

Sneak Peek into Dearest Mother and Dad

/ The Eclectic World of Christina / 1 Comment

Matt Connor from The Chemical Attraction Series has been through the emotional ringer. I recently added to his distress. Luckily, he has his wife, Eva, and his son, David, to help him. Here’s an excerpt from my newest novel, Dearest Mother and Dad. It’s a standalone piece of historical fiction about Matt’s father, Orrin Connor, who was a minor character in my Series.

PROLOGUE

Standing alone in the middle of his parents’ living room, Matt Connor rubbed the back of his crew cut. Where do I start? Framed family pictures consumed every space on the walls. He couldn’t tell what color the wallpaper was. Knickknacks gathered dust and cluttered the end tables, china cabinet, curios cabinets, shelves, and the hutch. What am I supposed to do with all of this bric-a-brac? He had so many questions, and he’d just buried the man who always had the answers.

His wife, Eva, and their seventeen-year-old son, David, were going to help him clean and prep the house to sell. The money would go into David’s college fund. Matt didn’t know what he’d do without Eva and David; they gave him solace after his parents’ deaths.

David burst through the front door, balancing a stack of flattened packing boxes, a roll of tape, and Sunday’s thick Kalamazoo Gazette. “Where do you want to start?” he asked his father, dumping his armload onto the living room carpet.

“Well,” Matt replied, “we can donate the books to the library and then the collectables and clothes to the Salvation Army.”

“That’s a good start.” Eva joined them from the kitchen. “I’ll call the women’s shelter to see what they need.”

For the next week, the Connor family packed and delivered items to various nonprofit charity sites around town. By the end of the week, when the house had been virtually emptied, Matt and David carried up from the basement two worn-out cardboard boxes labeled “Orrin’s stuff” in Matt’s father’s tidy cursive. They set the boxes in the middle of the empty living room floor. Eva had just returned, carrying in a large pizza and a six-pack of Coke.

David relieved her of the Cokes. “Last two boxes,” he informed her.

Sitting on the floor, they ate their dinner. In between bites, David rummaged inside the first box. He pulled out a thick stack of faded envelopes held together by a pale pink ribbon.

“These are dated 1952,” David said.

“Really?” Matt leaned over the other box. He picked up a picture of a General pinning a medal on what appeared to be his then-eighteen-year-old father, Orrin Connor, during the Korean War.

“Grandpa got a medal?” David asked. “For what?”

Eva opened the top letter as Matt stared at the photo. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Dad never talked about his experiences in Korea.”

“He was a corpsman,” Eva said, glancing at the letter.

“What’s a corpsman?” David asked.

“Like a medic,” she replied. “These are letters he mailed to his parents.”

“Wow,” David said. “Let’s read some. I don’t know much about that war.”

Eva looked at Matt. “Are you up for this?”

Matt nodded and leaned back against the bare wall. “I’d like to know more, too.”

…come back next week for an excerpt from Chapter One…

 

Preorder your copy of Dearest Mother and Dad

$1.99

Release Date: May 21, 2020

AMAZON

BARNES&NOBLE

APPLE BOOKS

KOBO

GOODREADS

“One hundred and twenty Marines wounded. Eighteen dead. All for one lousy hill.”

Corpsman Orrin Connor’s faithful letters with a touching twist shield his parents from the horrors of war. His buddy Rawley Armstrong’s poignant letters give his sister the harrowing truths. Throughout their dangerous assignments during the Korean War, they debate the consequences of their choices. Orrin gains comfort in downplaying his experiences while Rawley feels a healing purge. As they get to know the Marines in their charge, the corpsmen gather a variety of opinions. Although Orrin and Rawley disagree, their friendship remains true until the bitter end.

“It all happened within minutes. For some, it would last a lifetime.”

Based on her father’s letters to his parents throughout the Forgotten War, author Christina Thompson has produced this work of historical fiction to pay tribute to Navy corpsmen by remembering their service to their brothers and their country. Imagining her father had guarded his parents from the carnage of war, Christina elaborates on what could have happened while staying true to the dates and experiences her father shared in his actual letters.