First Chapter Reveal: A Peach of a Pair by Kim Boykin

Title: A Peach of a Pair
Author: Kim Boykin
Publisher: Penguin Random House/Berkley Books
Pages: 304
Genre: Southern Women’s Fiction

"Palmetto Moon" inspired "The Huffington Post" to rave, It is always nice to discover a new talented author and Kim Boykin is quite a find. Now, she delivers a novel of a woman picking up the pieces of her life with the help of two spirited, elderly sisters in South Carolina.

April, 1953. Nettie Gilbert has cherished her time studying to be a music teacher at Columbia College in South Carolina, but as graduation approaches, she can’t wait to return to her family and her childhood sweetheart, Brooks, in Alabama. But just days before her senior recital, she gets a letter from her mama telling her that Brooks is getting married . . . to her own sister.

Devastated, Nettie drops out of school and takes a job as live-in help for two old-maid sisters, Emily and Lurleen Eldridge. Emily is fiercely protective of the ailing Lurleen, but their sisterhood has weathered many storms. And as Nettie learns more about their lives on a trip to see a faith healer halfway across the country, she’ll discover that love and forgiveness will one day lead her home.

For More Information

• A Peach of a Pair is available at Amazon.
• Pick up your copy at Barnes & Noble.
• Also available at Indiebound.
• Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

FIRST CHAPTER:

Thursday, March 26, 1953

“Mail call,” old Miss Beaumont bellowed into the commons room, and a flock of girls descended on her like biddies after scratch feed. Except for me. Normally, I would have been right there with them, clamoring for news from home. But since Mother called right after the tornado hit last month to say everyone back home in Satsuma was still in one piece, there hasn’t been a single word from anyone. Not even Brooks.

It was bad enough that Hurricane Florence blew through in September and smashed much of Alabama to bits. Six months later, just when everyone was getting a handle on putting my hometown back together, a tornado roared through, undoing Satsuma all over again. And while I wanted Miss Beaumont to bellow my name, I was sure the folks back home were too busy with the cleanup to write.

On good days, the silence was unsettling, and on bad days, it turned my stomach inside out. But I knew better than to complain.

Three and a half years ago, I’d been dying to get out of the armpit of Alabama to study music and accepted a full ride to the most exclusive women’s college in South Carolina. Funny how, back then Satsuma, even Alabama herself, seemed too small for me. Now, all I can think about is moving back home, and it won’t be long, just eight weeks till graduation.

I missed my mother and Sissy like it was the first day of my freshman year. And if I let myself think of the very long list of the people I love who have stopped writing me since those awful catastrophes, I would never stop crying. And Brooks. Loyal, faithful Brooks, who loved me enough to let me go away to college, saying he would wait forever if he had to for me to be his bride. The thought of how much I loved him, missed him, made my heart literally ache with a dull pain that left me in tears.

I was sure Brooks was working himself to death, helping rebuild Satsuma, because that’s the kind of guy he was, always building something. At Christmastime, he proposed, a promise without a ring, but a promise from Brooks Carter is as certain as my next breath.

Miss Beaumont called the name of one of the catty girls who are jealous of me because I am the only ’Bama belle at Columbia College. Maybe in the whole state of South Carolina. She cut her eye around at me, waved three letters, relishing the fact that I had none. My roommate, Sue, had one clutched to her chest, praying for more as hard as I’ve prayed for word from home. Something. Anything.

Sue had badgered me to call home. Collect. I knew my family would accept the charges, but I was afraid of the news that must be so terrible, nobody could bring themselves to call the pay phone in my hallway. So I waited for letters. I craved them as much as I dreaded them.

Since I went away to college, Mama and Sissy, who just turned nineteen last month, have written me every week, sometimes twice a week. Nana Gilbert and Grandma Pope wrote just as often, always slipping in a newspaper clipping from home, sometimes a dollar bill, whenever they had it to spare. With nineteen cousins who are all tighter than a new pair of shoes, I could always count on letters from them. One day I received twenty-two, a record at the college; it was better than Christmas. And Brooks, my beloved one true love, his letters were always like Christmas and the Fourth of July rolled into one.

Brooks loves and knows me better than anyone. He should; we’d been sweethearts since the fourth grade. While it has been a little rough with my studying music and education here in Columbia, and him back home in Satsuma, Brooks has been the most wonderful, understanding man in the world. Of course when I got the scholarship, he wasn’t at all happy, but he knew I was working toward our future. Me a teacher, maybe even a church pianist too, him running the feed store his daddy left him.

Lots of girls here have diamonds and are getting married the moment they graduate. But Brooks and I are waiting until next summer. He said it would be a good idea to get a year of teaching experience under my belt before we’re wed. He’s always so sensible like that, forward thinking, which I am not.

“Sue Dennis,” Miss Beaumont yelled. Sue snatched the letter from her and cocked her head at me, reminding me to be hopeful. But I knew there would be nothing for me, not until Satsuma was put together again. And it must be bad back home, much worse than Mother let on for the news from home to have stopped altogether. As awful as that was, the worst part was knowing in my heart why.

I shook my head at Sue and forced a thin smile.

“Nettie Gilbert,” Miss Beaumont called like the world had not just ended. I kept my seat on the kissing couch in the common’s room. Sue jumped up and down for me, squealing, but for the life of me I couldn’t move. She grabbed the letter from Miss Beaumont’s withered old fingers and flew to my side.

“It’s from Brooks,” she gushed. “I just know it is.”

But I knew it’s wasn’t. Mother’s letter-perfect handwriting marked the front. I turned it over to see the flap she always sealed with a tiny mark, xoxo, but there was nothing. Someone was dead, their long obituary folded up inside. Someone so precious to me, no one, not even my own mother, could bear to break the news to me.

“Open it,” Sue said. She’d already read her first letter, from her beau back home in Summerville. Her face was still flush. Sometimes we read our letters to each other, but lately, she’d kept the ones from Jimmy to herself since she visited home last. Even though their June wedding was right around the corner, I suspected they did the deed the last time she was home, and her letters were too saucy to share.

On the last night of Christmas break, I’d wanted to go all the way with Brooks and would have if Sissy hadn’t fetched us from the orange grove. We’d taken a blanket there to watch the sunset. It was a perfect night. As crisp as a gulf night can be in December. The perfect time, the perfect place, but Sissy, who could never leave Brooks alone, insisted we play Parcheesi with the family. When I protested, all it took was a Mother said from her, and Brooks was folding up the blanket, putting it back in the knapsack along with my chance at becoming a woman.

“I’ll be at your graduation before you know it,” he promised when I gave him a pouty look. “And next summer, you’ll be my June bride,” he whispered like it was naughty. His breath sent chills down my thighs and made me hate Sissy, just a tiny bit.

At Christmastime, I saw the devastation from Hurricane Florence firsthand, but after the tornado roared through Satsuma a few weeks ago, I knew it was much worse. When I’d called, Mother had sworn everyone was okay. But I knew if something were wrong, if someone were terribly injured, she’d try to keep a tight lip, at least until I graduated. Partly for me because she loved me, and partly because I would be the first on both sides of my family to get my degree.

Mother had tried college, and then got married the summer after her freshman year. But I also know part of my mother was still angry at me for going so far away when I could have gone to ’Bama, which did not have a decent music program.

“Come on, Nettie, read it,” Sue chided. But my heart refused to let my hands open the letter; I passed it off to Sue as she drug me back to our room.

“Sit,” she ordered, pushing me gently down onto my bed. “You’re being silly. It’s something wonderful, I’m sure of it,” she gushed, reaching for her letter opener. She slit the top of the envelope, pulled out a small white card, and offered it to me again.

Tears raced down my face, my neck. When I pushed it away, a sheet of lined notebook paper folded into a perfect rectangle escaped from the card and fell to the floor. Sue snatched it up while scanning the card. Her smile faded, and her face was ghostly white.

“Oh, Nettie,” she whispered, unfolding the letter from my mother.

“It’s Brooks, isn’t it?” She nodded. “Oh, God.”

I threw myself across the bed, sobbing. Brooks was dead. I would never see his beautiful face. Hear his voice rumble my name. Feel his arms wrapped tight around me, making me feel adored. Safe. Loved. The life that we’d planned would never amount to anything more than just words whispered between two lovers.

“Nettie.” Sue lay down beside me, stroking my hair. “My sweet Nettie, you need to read this.”

I couldn’t. I buried my face in my pillow. She whispered how strong I was, how life wasn’t fair, how very sorry she was my heart was broken to bits, and held me until I was all cried out. After I don’t know how long, I shook my head and looked at her. “I just can’t believe Brooks is dead.”

Sue gnawed her bottom lip the way she did when she was taking a test. “He’s not dead, Nettie.” Her hand trembled as she put Mother’s letter in my hand. “He’s getting married.”

“What?” I jerked the page away from her, and the card fell onto my lap. Neat white stock with two little doves at the top. Mother might have been a farmer’s wife from Satsuma, but her well-worn etiquette book sat atop the Bible on her bedside table. And as far as Dorothy Gilbert was concerned, they were one and the same. Except the invitations weren’t sent out months in advance. They’d been done so quickly, they were not even engraved, and the wedding was four weeks away.

Brooks’s name should be below mine, but it was below Sissy’s—Jemma Renee Gilbert, glared at me, cordially inviting me to her wedding. Worse yet, the parents of Brooks and Sissy were cordially inviting me too.

“This must be some kind of a sick joke,” Sue whispered. “How can they do this to you?”

She read my mind and uttered the words I could not bring myself to say. How could they? How could Brooks?

My hands trembled so hard it was difficult to read the impeccably neat handwriting.

Dear Nettie,

It might seem cruel to send this letter along with a proper invitation, but I couldn’t bring myself to call you, and I wasn’t given much notice regarding this matter. I also know you well enough to know you would have to see the invitation to truly believe it. Although I do regret not having enough time to have them engraved.

I’m sorry to be the one to give you the news about Brooks and Sissy. I love you, Nettie, and I love your sister. I’m not condoning her behavior or the fact that she is in the family way, but you are blood. You are sisters. No man can break that bond, not even Brooks.

There’s money and a bus ticket paper-clipped to the invitation. I’ve checked the schedules. You should be able to leave Columbia on Thursday the week of the wedding after your morning classes and get back by Sunday night. I know how you hate to miss class, and if you are also missing some wonderful end-of-the-year party, I’m sorry. So very sorry.

But the milk has been spilled, Nettie. Come home and stand up with your sister. She needs you. She’s a wreck, and it makes me worry about the baby.

Just come home.

Love,

Mother

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First Chapter Reveal: Defending Nora by Sarah Leyton

Title: Defending Nora
Author: Sarah Leyton
Publisher: Siren Bookstrand
Pages: 184
Genre: Romance/Erotica

With nothing more exciting in her life than her bangs catching on fire while trying to flambé, Nora Connolly’s life was terrifically uneventful. Well, uneventful until her house got raided and she found out her boyfriend was actually a CIA agent turned traitor. When he escapes custody and begins stalking her she is forced to turn to the only man she knows can protect her, the man she’s been swooning over since high school.

When Nora shows up on his doorstep looking for protection, Jack Coleman tries to turn her way. Staying sane with Nora’s sexy ass was already hard enough, but she needs a safe house and keeping his hands to himself while trying to keep her protected would be more than even his rock hard control could handle.

For More Information

• Defending Nora is available at Amazon.
• Pick up your copy at Barnes & Noble.
• Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

First Chapter:

“Why are we watching this? They’re supposed stars, but I don’t recognize half of them,” Nora groused from her slumped position on her sister’s couch.

“Because the girls got me hooked on this stupid show and now I have to see the finale,” Sam replied as she pulled another cake pop off the coffee table and proceeded to shove the entire thing into her mouth.

Nora just rolled her eyes and mindlessly stared as the B-list celebrities danced the foxtrot. Normally she enjoyed a little brainless reality TV like any good American, but with everything in her actual reality being thrown through a blender these days, she just didn’t have the stomach for the fake stuff.

“If you sigh like that one more time I’m kicking you out and you’ll have to go play with the kids,” Sam said without turning her gaze from the television.

The threat made Nora smile. She knew that her sister had every intention of following through should she need too. That girl took her dance shows seriously. Nora buttoned her lips so she wouldn’t sigh again and be relegated to the toy room. She loved her nieces and nephew, but in the mood she was in, the last thing she wanted to do was entertain little kids.

Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on the cake she was making for Mr. and Mrs. Eldridge’s Brazilian Carnival themed anniversary party next week.

She wanted to do at least five tiers, so she’d need support stands on each layer. The frosting had to be bright and colorful, with feathers and glitter accents to really make it fabulous. Maybe she’d even add sparklers or something to really up the wow factor.

“Okay, now you can help me with my baby name list.”

Sam’s voice startled her out of her mental cake decorating and she almost rolled off the couch.

“Geez, Nora. I didn’t mean to scare you out of your skin,” Sam said with a hand over her mouth trying unsuccessfully to stifle her giggles. “Were you asleep?”

Getting up to sit cross-legged on the couch Nora brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at Sam in sisterly scathing.

“No, dearest sister. Despite the riveting drama between the overweight businessman and the out-of-work actor, I was cake planning.”

Sam stuck her tongue out and Nora rolled her eyes.

“Very mature, Sam. You’re a mother.”

“Right, and I’m about to give birth again. Matt and I are exchanging baby names tomorrow, and I need your help.”

After grabbing the list her sister held out, Nora glanced at the list of names.

“Oh Sam, please tell me you’re kidding with these names. I get that mom and dad gave us weirdo names, but give me a break!”

Sam snatched her list out of Nora’s hand.

“What do you mean? These are great names,” Sam said as she looked at the paper in her hand. “Besides, our names aren’t that weird.”

Nora had been named after her paternal grandmother who had come to the U.S. from Ireland after her husband died in the seventies. Nora and Sam’s father had been a teenager at the time. Sam had been named after the Russian city their mother had immigrated from as a nod to her heritage.

“Yeah, Nora and Samara are super normal.” Nora said sarcastically and launched herself off the couch to walk across the room to grab a soda out of the wet bar in the corner. “As for your baby name list—Murphy? And Evelyn? If you name your kid Evelyn, she’s going to be born sixty-five years old and wearing a polyester sweater. The first thing she’s going to do once she pops out is to offer the hospital staff some shiny ribbon candy.”

Nora popped the top of her soda dramatically to emphasize her punch line and Sam burst out laughing.

“You obviously missed your calling as a stand-up comedian, Nora.” Sam said after she got her laughter under control. “Toss me a bottle of water will you?”

Nora reached back into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water to toss to her sister.

“I can’t believe you guys still have bottles of water in here. Isn’t Matt on some saving the planet, going green, stopping global warming kick?”

“Yes, but these are what’s left over from his pre-Captain Planet phase and I promised to recycle.”

Nora started laughing as she pictured her buff brother-in-law wearing tight spandex while he flew around town with a group of racially diverse children with super powers.

“Now I’m going to have to call him Captain Planet all the time.”

Sam and Nora both doubled over laughing like lunatics. When they finally calmed down they collapsed against each other on the couch and sighed. Sometimes it was like they were teenagers again. It had been she and Sam against the world back in those days, but they had kept each other standing, and in the end they’d both ended up okay.

“So, tomorrow,” Sam said. “I’m thinking we can meet up for coffee at like nine o’clock and then hit the shops on Michigan. I need to pick up a bunch of stuff for the kids and I need to look for a new couch for the den. Plus, I need to hit up the lingerie store for bras and add some members to my support group.”

Nora had forgotten about their plans for tomorrow. She’d been so busy with work and the fact that she’d accidentally sliced her arm open on a sharp shelf yesterday that it had flown out of her mind.

She looked down at her forearm at the thought of all those stitches. The stupid thing still ached like a beast, but it hadn’t been the first time and it sure as shootin’ wasn’t going to be the last. It seemed like every five minutes she was cutting herself, or burning herself, or catching her bangs on fire.

Ah, the hazards of a giant klutz working in a kitchen.

You know that your ability to screw up is top notch when the triage nurses and ER doctors start to know you by name. It was a good thing she had insurance because stitches didn’t come cheap and she didn’t plan on relinquishing her kitchen anytime soon.

“Yo, earth to my space cadet sister!” Sam waved her hand in front of Nora’s face before flicking her on the nose, causing Nora to flinch away.

“Hey! Quit with the theatrics. I’m listening.”

Sam gave her a patented I’m a mother and your big sister, and I don’t believe that for a minute stare down. It was equal parts frown, disbelief, and censure.

“All right, so I wasn’t listening, but your coffee and shopping plan for tomorrow sounds great.”

Sam didn’t relinquish her look right away, but eventually she blew out a breath and laughed.

“Fine. I’ll see you at the café at nine tomorrow morning.” Sam said as Nora hauled herself off the couch and grabbed her bag. Sam yelled after her as she made her way to the front door. “And wear tennis shoes this time!”

“Yes, mom!” Nora yelled back and slammed the front door with a satisfying thump of defiance. Where had she put those wedge tennis shoes with the three-inch heels?

*** *

Nora Connolly sat in the café down the street from Sam’s apartment enjoying her morning coffee while waiting for her sister to arrive. It was a modern-style coffee shop that turned into more of a bar at night. She and Sam frequented the little café quite a bit. It was usually less busy than some of the others on the block, plus they liked giving their money to a more mom and pop type of store rather than one of the faceless chain places.

Not to mention there was usually some pretty fabulous eye candy with Winterman Security being across the street. It turned the little café into a bit of a hotspot for the former-military caffeine enthusiasts, which usually meant that any time of day there was at least one buff guy with a bad boy attitude and unholy grin drinking coffee and providing fantasy fodder for every woman in the place.

Nora openly studied the fine male specimen before her. She had no qualms about him seeing her check him out either, since he did the same thing to her all the time.

Every time Nora saw Jack Coleman she couldn’t help but hear the theme song from Power Rangers play in her head. However, to his credit, Jack would have made that shiny spandex uniform look way better than the White Ranger ever did. It would mold to his glorious physique in all the right places.

She had known Jack since she was in high school, and he looked even better now than he had back then. That was saying something because he had looked damn good at seventeen.

Jack was absolutely drool-worthy. Standing at about two or three inches over six feet, he had broad shoulders and a trim waist. He also did more heavy weight lifting than most of the men she knew, so he seemed to have rippling muscles. Nora figured it was part military- honed gym skills and part good old-fashioned genetics.

Nora shook her head and tried to get the image of tracing the lines of each one of his muscles with her tongue out of her brain. He was wearing his blonde hair longer than he ever had, probably a bit of rebellion after his time in the Marines and subsequent years spent as a mercenary in Asia and the Middle East.

While Jack wasn’t beautiful, his features were cut and raw. He was manly and rugged. The man had a jaw that looked like it had been chiseled from a rock.

Just looking at him had her getting hot. One look at him and she was thinking clashing mouths, handcuffs, and rough, sweaty sex. Secretly, she was hoping eventually he would do something about their lightning attraction, but he kept holding back.

A few years ago her sister Sam had married her longtime boyfriend, Matt Taylor. Jack had pawed at his date through the entire ceremony and reception. That was, of course, after he scared Nora’s date off with some sort of threat of pain or maiming.

She had been fuming at his high-handed arrogance around the side of the house, out of view of wedding guests, when he’d come to find her. She couldn’t help but remember how good he’d looked in his tux. Hell, what was she talking about? The man made any form of clothing look downright sinful. She figured he would look even more sinful wearing nothing at all.

“What are you doing? Come back to the party. They’re throwing the bouquet soon and Sam will need you,” Jack had grumbled at her as he came around the side of the house and spotted her.

Nora had let out a very unladylike snort at that. The idea of catching the bouquet was utterly ridiculous. It wasn’t like she would be able to find anyone to marry her even if she did catch the stupid thing, not with Jack running off all of her prospects.

When she told him as much, she saw his shoulders tense and his hands fist. Nora had no idea what he had to be angry about, but she had been sick of his antics.

“What’s your problem, Jack? You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else near me either? I’m getting sick and tired of you and this stupid, ass backward game you’re playing. I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m done with you!”

Nora stomped forward with every intention of shoving her way past him, but at the last second he grabbed her wrist and pulled her flush against his body. Her skin sizzled and he slid a hand to the back of her neck beneath her hair while the other locked around her at the small of her back.

“Well, I’m not done with you,” he growled.

The hand in her hair twisted and the arm around her waist tightened while his lips conquered hers in an almost brutal fashion. When she offered no resistance, his lips softened and she found herself melting into his kiss. With every pass of his tongue she felt her panties getting wetter. And judging by the way he pressed his groin into her stomach, he wasn’t unaffected either.

When his hand moved from its location around her waist to squeeze her ass, Nora released a moan. The pleasure of his hands and mouth were overwhelming. She had waited so long for him to do something like this.

Alas, it was too good to be true. Her moan seemed to break the spell and Jack shoved her roughly away from him.

“That was a mistake. We can’t get involved, Nora.” He shook his head and looked at her like he was pleading with her to understand. “It can’t happen again.”

Was he trying to convince her or himself?

Then his words hit home. A mistake? That kiss that had just scorched her nerve endings was a mistake?

Ugh! That man couldn’t go five minutes without driving her crazy.

“Damn right it won’t happen again, Jack Coleman. You think being with me is a mistake? Fine! Stay the hell away from me then. I’ll find someone who doesn’t think moments with me are mistakes. And stay away from my dates!”

She gave him a parting look that would have been fatal if looks could do such things. When she shoved past him a second time, he called her name and reached for her hand again, but she ripped it away.

She wrapped her anger around herself like a shield so she wouldn’t breakdown and cry in the middle of Matt and Sam’s reception, but later that night, after she’d made it to the safety of her own house, she let the tears loose like a waterfall.

After that day, she and Jack went back to being only friends. To Nora’s rose-tinted eyes, their friendship had a new element of closeness to it, but Jack never made another advance. He continued to make bawdy comments when they were in public just as he did with everyone, but he never made another physical move toward her.

Sam plopped down in the seat across from Nora, startling her mind back to the present.

“I’m sorry that I’m late. I let Matt get Olivia ready this morning and she came downstairs with only two thirds of her hair in a ponytail, an orange skirt, purple tank top, and red cowboy boots. It took me fifteen minutes just to repair the damage that he’d done.”

They both laughed at that. Olivia was their youngest child and Matt, for all his fine qualities as a father, failed miserably at every attempt to assist in getting his daughter ready. Nora figured he did it in an attempt to get Sam to stop asking him to help, but she couldn’t prove it.

“Did the kids go to Matt’s parents for the day?” She and Sam had planned on coffee and then taking a long shopping trip in downtown Chicago.

 “Nope, they’re hanging out with Matt. He, Sebastian, and Jack are going to take them to the zoo apparently. I told them that we might meet them for dinner. Is that okay?”

“Of course that’s fine. We’ll be starved by that time anyway. Besides, your husband always picks up my bill, so I’d be an idiot to turn down a free dinner.”

*** *

Nora had forgotten how unforgiving of a shopper Sam could be. After a full day of hitting the stores, they were beat and Nora was regretting her shoe choice. They’d done their work and driven Sam crazy, but Nora hadn’t thought through the ramifications of actually wearing them all day. The only reprieve she’d gotten had been while in the cab driving from one end of Michigan Avenue to the other.

As fun as these trips to the city were, Nora couldn’t wait to get home, put on her sweats, slip her feet into her horribly cliché pink bunny slippers, and watch an old movie on the black and white cinema channel.

First, however, she was going to have to get through dinner.

Sam had called Matt during the afternoon to tell him where to meet them for dinner. As they entered the little Italian restaurant, the hostess greeted them. Sam told her she was looking for three men with three kids. The girl blushed and smiled brightly as she directed them to where the men and kids were seated.

Obviously the guys had made quite an impression on the poor hostess. They tended to do that on their own, but when you put them all together in the same room, any woman would fall prey to the pure virile masculinity and gorgeous features, not to mention their outrageous charm. Each one of them had their own charisma, but when they were all together they were lethal.

When she and Sam approached the table, all of the men stood. Sam kissed her husband before sitting beside him. This left one seat open for Nora, next to Jack. Figures. She suspected foul play. Her friends were trying to set them up, and to their eternal dismay, it definitely wasn’t working. They just kept trying anything they could think of, hoping something would stick.

“So ladies, how was shopping?” Matt asked as he handed Olivia and Heath more crayons so they could continue to draw on their children’s menus. Sam’s oldest, Audrey, was currently engrossed in her attempt to capture Sebastian during a rather giggly thumb war.

“It was great. I got some clothes for the kids and some kitchen stuff, but the bigger news is that I found the perfect couch for your den. It’s being delivered on Tuesday!”

Matt groaned and pretended to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “How much is that costing me?”
Sam just chuckled and shoved at his shoulder. “Not too much.

Besides, I refuse to keep that ratty old thing that some pothead pulled out of an estate sale in the seventies.” Sam levelled her that’s the way things are going to be look.

Matt’s couch had been a source of constant bickering between the couple since college. It really was atrocious—brown, orange, and what Nora assumed used to be white, now more of a dirty yellow color. One of the cushions looked like bong water had been spilled on it, which it very well may have been, and the cushion covers were falling apart.

Matt, however, loved it and didn’t want to give it up, but Sam was apparently putting her foot down.

“Fine, but it had better at least be comfortable. If you got us a couch that looks good and sucks to sit on I’m going to be forced to...” Matt let his sentence trail off as he looked around the table. Instead of finishing his sentence he gave his wife a menacing glare that she scoffed at.

“What will you be forced to do, little brother? Inquiring minds want to know.” Sebastian set his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. He looked at his brother with enthusiastic mock interest.

Sebastian, Matt’s half-brother, couldn’t ever resist and opportunity to razz someone.

Besides, it wasn’t a secret what Matt and Sam’s sexual proclivities were, and Sebastian loved to tease them at every opportunity. It was their fault. If they would stop getting so embarrassed by it, Sebastian would stop thinking it was funny.

“Fuck you, Sebastian.”

“Daddy!” A little gasp came from Audrey. “You said a bad word. You need to say you’re sorry and put a dollar in the cussing cup,” she said with her little voice.

Nora stifled a laugh. Sam had made sure her children were incredibly polite. At least Audrey and Heath were. Olivia was still too small to say much more than stilted, incomplete sentences.

The ‘cussing cup’ was an idea that Nora and Sam had concocted to get everyone to stop cursing around the kiddos. The guys kept trying to call it a swear jar so it would sound more manly. Even though they were the only ones contributing money, the girls kept it the cussing cup.

Matt apologized for his cursing while simultaneously kicking Sebastian’s shin under the table. He also handed a dollar over to Sam. They used the money for the weekly trip to the ice cream shop. Thanks to the time the guys had spent in the military, there was usually plenty of cash.

Nora couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie they all had. Sam and Matt had started dating in high school. She had become friends with Matt and Sebastian since there was only a year age gap between her and Sam. Jack was best friends with Matt and Sebastian and had gone into the Marines with Sebastian right after high school.

Nora liked to think of them as a tight little family. After all, weren’t friends supposed to be the families you choose for yourself?

She couldn’t help but enjoy the warm feeling that having a family, of sorts, created. It had been only her and Sam for a while and it was nice to have other people around who cared about her. Especially now, since Sam had become a wife and mother. Nora still lived in the house that they’d shared after their parents had passed away.

Ian and Jana Connolly had been killed after they were forced off the road by a semi-truck. Nora had been a senior in high school and Sam had been in her first year at Chicago University. Even after all these years, Nora still missed them like crazy.

Her dad had been the strong and steady type, an Irishman through and through. He’d never had a lot to say, but he’d been wise and loving. Her mother had been a total cuckoo bird. She’d loved bright colors and never shut up. If she weren’t talking then she would hum and sing and tap pencils.

That’s what Nora remembered most about her childhood—color and noise. And love. They’d never doubted how much their parents loved each other and their daughters.

As if he could sense her sudden melancholy state, Jack reached his hand out to grasp hers and stroke it comfortingly. Even though she was sure the gesture wasn’t meant to be sexual, any touch he gave her set her on fire. To her utter horror she could feel her nipples bead against the front of her cotton t-shirt for everyone’s viewing pleasure. The horny little tramps were pleading for attention and apparently didn’t care if they humiliated her in the process.

As if he knew her thoughts, she saw Jack’s gaze dip from her face to her chest. After catching an eye full of her headlight situation, the side of his mouth picked up in a little grin of satisfaction. She morphed from consoled and horny to pissed in zero point two seconds.

One minute the jerk was comforting her and next he was making her mad as hell. She slid her fingers up to his wrist under the guise of moving his hand inward on her thigh before she pinched the inside of his wrist as hard as she could with her nails.

He jerked back his offended arm to cradle it in his lap as he rubbed her mark with his thumb. He scowled fiercely at her, but she just gave him her best shit-eating smile before she turned away to the waitress to give the woman her order.

When the waitress turned her attention to Jack he gave her his biggest grin that showed off his dimples and gave her his order with a wink. When he turned back to the table, he had a satisfied smirk. Nora wanted to wipe that smug look right off his face, but she couldn’t think of anything to say other than to call him a butthead.

Really mature, Nora. Letting jealousy turn you into a five year old is a great idea. Then you and Audrey can compare insults.

*** *

Once Nora was back in the car with Sam for the ride home, she knew the questions about dinner would start. Sam had seen what had transpired all throughout dinner between her and Jack. She was just waiting for Sam to start barraging her with questions.

When she didn’t, Nora studied her sister’s face questioningly. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Sam glanced over at her with a questioning look but Nora saw the humor in her eyes and the way her mouth tried not to smile.

“You’re a real pain in my ass sometimes, you know that?” Nora crossed her arms across her chest and pouted. She seemed to be in a five-year-old mood lately.

“Look, honey. I know that you and Jack have a thing going. You know that you and Jack have a thing going. The only problem seems to be convincing Jack that you two have something. I don’t know what his deal is or why he is acting this way, but in the meantime it is a little funny the way you two bicker and bitch all while undressing each other with your eyes.”

“Well, I’m glad that we can be entertaining.” She couldn’t take too much offense though. She knew that if she had been the outsider looking in, she would have been amused too.

***

After walking into her house, Nora hit the button on her phone to listen to her messages, though she didn’t think she’d have any since she’d just been with everyone who would have called her.

There were five messages. She was surprised and a little bit excited. For some weird reason, she loved having messages. It was like opening the mailbox and seeing a greeting card instead of a grocery ad.

Hitting play, she listened and deleted the first four messages since they were blank. She was a little disappointed. The last message however had her breaking out into a cold sweat and nearly hyperventilating.

“Hello, my gorgeous girl.” Nora shivered with the memories. “I’m so glad I found you. I’m on my way to see you, beautiful. We can make some new memories together. I’ll see you soon.”

Nora sank to the floor because her legs were shaking so badly she couldn’t hold herself up any longer. It had been months since she had heard that voice. The last time had been at the CIA field office, and he had stared at her the entire time with a satisfied smirk on his face. Even when the scary guys in black suits moved to take him away, he blew her a kiss. She shivered at the memory.

She had thought she was safe. She had been so wrong. She couldn’t stop the chills that overtook her body. She needed to figure out what to do, but she was having trouble breathing and standing, so formulating plans was not going to work at the moment.

She knew she wouldn’t be safe in the house alone. She loved her house, but she wasn’t under any delusions that it wouldn’t be easy to break into the large Victorian by breaking a door or window. She was pretty sure that she’d be fine for the night, but anything after that she’d need to figure something out for protection.

What she really wanted to do was pick up and run away to some foreign country, but she couldn’t. She’d put a lot of time and emotional effort into a life not lived in fear.

She needed help. Nora picked up her cell phone and hit the speed dial. Voicemail.

“Sam, it’s me. He’s back, Sam. He called me. I don’t know what I should do. Please call me as soon as you can.”

She hung up, knowing that Sam would get the message at some point.

The exhaustion from the day of shopping combined with the new stress hit her like a bullet train. She dragged herself into bed but didn’t bother with getting undressed. She just toed off her tennis shoes and crawled in. She fell right to sleep but it was restless and full of nightmares.  

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First Chapter Reveal: Guardians Inc.: The Cypher by Julian Rosado-Machain

Title: Guardians Inc.: The Cypher
Author: Julian Rosado-Machain
Publisher: Julian Rosado-Machain
Pages: 239
Genre: YA Fantasy Adventure
Format: Paperback, Kindle

Purchase at AMAZON

GUARDIANS INC.: THE CYPHER is two stories in one. A glimpse into a multinational company that is in reality the oldest of secret societies, one that spans close to seven thousand years of existence, weaving in and out of history, guiding and protecting humanity from creatures and forces that most of us believe are only mythology and fairy tales.

The other is the story of Thomas Byrne, a young man thrust into secrets he shouldn’t be aware of and dangers he shouldn’t face but, that he ultimately will, for he is a Cypher. The only one who can steer humanity’s future.

The ultimate conspiracy theory is that Magic is real. Kept in check by technology but, every five hundred years the balance can shift and, if it does, technology will fail and those creatures we’ve driven into myth will come back with a vengeance.

To protect the present, Guardians Incorporated needs to know the future, and to unlock the future they need a Cypher.

This is the first book of the Guardians Inc Series. 

First Chapter:

Vice Principal Killjoy

       Thomas fiddled with his thumbs waiting for his grandfather to emerge from his meeting with Vice Principal “Killjoy” Khanna.

He hadn’t come up with that nickname; it was something he had heard since his first day at Oceanic High School, in Carlsbad, California. It was whispered along the corridors and classrooms with dread, like a monster under the bed. If you did something wrong, Killjoy would get you.

 Even the adults knew about her infamy. Morning drop-offs at school were always a chaotic cutthroat race until Killjoy took command of the school’s entrance. Holding a metal notepad in one hand and a large coffee mug in the other, Killjoy gained control of the drop-off zone. As parents cautiously drove through the parking lot, a mere frown stopped those who wanted to cut in line. A wave of the metal notepad dissuaded those who wanted to drive into the teacher’s parking lot. Her system was very simple: students wouldn’t be admitted to school that day if their parents tried to cut in line. Simple as that. 

Killjoy always wore a long overcoat over a buttoned knitted sweater, even in the summer. Her haters compared her to a barrel with legs, but many of the girls were jealous of the wavy black hair that reached her lower back and her thin manicured hands. Nobody had seen her eyes — she always wore huge sunglasses that covered half her face — but it was rumored that her eyes were the blackest black.

She was shorter than the average sophomore girl, so it was easy for her to walk among students undetected during recess, and she was silent too, like a tiger stalking prey. Someone had found out that her shoe size was around 12 or 13, but Killjoy wore rubber-soled shoes and walked in a short step gait.

In those first two weeks, Thomas had been startled three times by her sudden appearance. Only the first time had she acknowledged his presence by nodding her head at him, her chin embedding itself deeply into her large double chin.

That simple nod was enough for an introduction.  

There was a story about how Killjoy stopped a speeding SUV by standing in front of it and putting her hand on the grill of the car. The incident happened before Thomas even entered school, and he knew it must have been an exaggeration, but the story went that two days later, the family who was driving the SUV moved from the county.

Or so it was rumored.    

Parents avoided her, teachers respected her, and students were completely terrified of her. In a nutshell, the school was completely under Killjoy’s iron grip. The principal seemed happy to be just a figurehead, the school ran like clockwork, and there were no problems between him and Killjoy since Killjoy was always right. 

Everyone told Thomas to avoid her, but he was now on her radar.

Thomas shifted in his seat, swinging his legs back and forth. He stared at Killjoy’s closed door. He shivered.  This was his first visit to her office, and since he had just transferred from Ohio, the Killjoy legend hadn’t really sunk in. A boy from his class had called him a “farm boy” in front of a group of girls, and although he had let that one slip by, he couldn’t ignore “hick,” “redneck,” and all the other names that followed. He dropped his backpack and immediately a ring of onlookers gathered.

The other boy, Roger Hill, was large and strong, with blond hair and blue eyes. He was three inches taller than Thomas, and his shoulders were many inches wider. Roger was a linebacker on the school’s football team.

 Thomas was the complete opposite – always on the skinny side, with black hair and brown eyes. But three years in Tae Kwon Do earned him a red belt and third place in Ohio’s junior open. Of course, nobody knew that, and Roger found out the hard way.

Thomas didn’t throw the first punch; he tried to talk first, but when the punches came he made sure to throw the last kick, and then the next one, and the next one, as Roger’s teammates jumped in to help their linebacker. Thomas was in a trance – fighting – and zooming in on one of Roger’s friends when the circle of onlookers opened and Killjoy entered the arena.

With a wave of her notepad, Killjoy dissolved the spectators and assessed the situation. Everyone was silent. Thomas tried to catch his breath. 

“You three,” she said in a thick Hindu accent, “to the principal.” Then she turned to Thomas and pointed with her coffee mug. “You, follow me.”

Thomas picked up his backpack and followed the short, plump woman through the school hallways. All the kids looked at him with pity; some even waved goodbye.

With a little kick, Killjoy opened her office door and led Thomas inside. She pointed to a chair across from her desk and waited for him to sit down before plopping in her chair. She intertwined her fingers and leaned over her desk, staring at Thomas.

Thomas tried to keep his cool and held her gaze while he counted in silence. He’d never been prone to get into trouble. He was never singled out for anything other than for his prowess in Tae Kwon Do in Ohio.

In Fulton, a town of roughly eleven thousand people, and a high school with a total two hundred students, everyone was familiar with each other. They’d actually grown up together. His old principal, Mr. Blair, had been to barbecues at his home many times. When someone got into trouble, not only did the parents know about it, within hours, the whole town heard of the news. And, like it or not, your reputation grew up with you -- screwing up as a kid, you’d be branded a “bad apple,” and your reputation would follow you forever.

The switch to Carlsbad, a proper city between San Diego and L.A., and a school with about three thousand students, had been difficult. It was harsh and disorienting. It seemed that everyone was trying to be individuals, trying to do something that would set them apart from each other. Clothing, attitude, friends, sports. It was all about who was who. Who did what?  And, who was with whom? Thomas had tried to keep a low profile, but once again, his prowess in Tae Kwon Do had singled him out.    

And now he was sitting in front of Killjoy.

When he had counted to twenty Mississippi, Killjoy finally spoke.

“Did you throw the first punch?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Did you entice the fight in any way?”

“Entice?”

“E-N-T-I-C-E. Entice,” she spelled. “To bait, to attract. Did you lure Roger to fight with you?”

“No. They started it.”

“They?”

“Roger and his friends.”

“So you know him?”

“He’s in one of my classes.”

“And you don’t like him.”

“I don’t really know him.”

“You wanted to fight him?”

“No.”

“You wanted to show off in front of the school? Build a little reputation? Show everyone who’s boss.”

“No.”

“No to which question.”

“No to all of them.”

“Show me your hands.”

Thomas paused, and then extended his knuckles.

“Palms up,” Killjoy said leaning forward. He opened his hands and turned up his palms.

Killjoy leaned even closer and lifted her sunglasses. Her eyes weren’t black but light brown, so clear that they were almost yellowish and perfectly delineated with a dark line. If she wasn’t wearing the sunglasses all the time, the girls would surely have another thing to envy. As she stared at his palms, Thomas began to feel a tingling sensation.  He pulled his hands away.

She leaned back in her chair drawing in a deep breath. “Are you afraid of me?” she asked as she reached for her coffee, her nails screeching as she ran them across the mug.

“Should I be?” Thomas asked the way he had answered all of her other questions, immediately, without thinking.

 Yes, she was scary, and she ruled the school with an iron grip, but in all the stories he’d heard, she was portrayed like a righteous but level-headed person. He really wanted to believe that he would get a fair interview with her.

Killjoy smirked. “I ask the same question to every student that sits in that chair. Ninety-nine percent say ‘yes.’ The other one percent, the bold or stupid, depending on how you want to look at it, say ‘no.’ You are the first to ask if you should be afraid.”

She turned her computer screen toward him. “This is your student record. Because of your fight I can suspend you. I can also try to expel you. I can have all the teachers keep tabs on you and let me know when you do something that’ll bring you back to this chair. I could recommend counseling, maybe even a psych evaluation. I could go out of my way and write some college recommendation letters, the kind that hint that maybe you wouldn’t be the best candidate for that school. I could do all that, maybe even a little more. And you know what?”

She stood and filled her coffee mug with a fresh batch from a machine she kept behind her desk. “It wouldn’t matter. This…” she pointed at the screen, “is your record, but it isn’t you. It isn’t what you are or what you can become. No matter what I or anyone else does to help you or bring you down, only you can decide your future. Success or failure is in your hands. You understand all of this?”

Thomas nodded.

“Good,” she said sitting down.  “Because most people your age don’t. That said, the answer is no, you shouldn’t be afraid of me, but you will respect me while you’re in this school. Are we clear?”

“Very clear.”

“Now get out of my chair and I’ll call your grandfather. You’ll wait outside and study.” She took a sip of coffee and turned to the computer screen.

Thomas didn’t know if he needed to apologize, thank her, or ask her what was going to happen next.  He stood up and walked toward the door.

He’d imagined a completely different outcome from the stories he’d heard. He had actually liked his little chat with Killjoy except, of course, that she was calling in his grandpa.

Now that was a conversation he began to dread.

“By the way,” Killjoy said, “for a red belt, you’re twisting your back leg too much on your Dwi sa gi.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your back stance,” Killjoy said without looking at him. “If Roger had known a little Tae Kwon Do, or any other martial art, he would have blocked your side kick and you’d have ended up on the floor. You need to work on your side-raising kick too.”

It was almost word-for-word what his Master in Ohio had told him to work on before he left for California.

“Thanks,” he said. “I will.” And she waved him away with the mug.

Thomas sat down outside of her office to study, but all he could think about was his chat with Killjoy.  How did she know that he practiced Tae Kwon Do, and how could she have guessed that he was a red belt?   

It took Thomas’s grandfather four hours before he arrived. The school was almost empty when Morgan Byrne entered through the office doors. Thomas felt the full intensity of his grandfather’s glare, even behind his thick, coke-bottle glasses. As his grandfather walked toward him, Thomas felt his body shrink. He had seen that glare before. He closed his notepad and got ready for the lecture that was sure to come. His grandfather’s limp was more noticeable when he walked at a brisker pace, and the way he nodded was an even worse sign of things to come.

Morgan Byrne had big hands, and at seventy-two he was an imposing man. He still had a full head of hair, although it had gone completely white. The diabetes and mild arthritis had only begun to dent his stamina, but he still exercised every morning and tried to get Thomas to exercise with him as much as he could.

“Tom.” His grandfather lifted a finger from his clenched fist, but before he could say another word, Killjoy opened the door to her office.

“Mr. Byrne,” she said extending a hand. “I’m Vice Principal Khanna. Before you take Thomas home I need to speak with you.”

Morgan shook Killjoy’s hand, flashed Thomas a final glare, and disappeared into the office.

Thomas’s guts twisted into a knot, and he locked his hands in between his knees. He involuntarily began to rock back and forth. A chat session between Killjoy and Grandpa could very well mean a whole new level of grounding.  He tried to listen to the conversation through the door, but he only heard muffled voices.

Grandpa raised his voice, then Killjoy, then Grandpa again, followed by a long stream of words from Killjoy.  Then a long silence, then… laughter?

Were they really laughing in there?

The door flung open. His grandfather walked out of Killjoy’s office with a smile. He turned and waved at Killjoy. Thomas stopped rocking and drew in a long breath. His grandfather didn’t seem as angry as he thought.

 But, Thomas’s relief was short-lived as Grandpa’s smile slowly turned into a grimace.

“To the car, Tom,” his grandfather snapped. Not another word was spoken until they reached the parking lot.

“I tried to talk it out first,” Thomas began when they reached the car.

“Inside.” Morgan opened the door and closed it very gently. The car was his most prized possession: a black 1959 Chevrolet Impala that had been in and out of his garage only a couple of times since he’d bought it.

Thomas had heard all the car stories more than once. It was his grandfather’s pride and joy, his first car, bought with the labor of his teenage years and his first check from the Marines. The car that wooed his grandmother; the car his dad first learned to drive; the car Thomas’s parents used on their first date.

The car had been as special for his parents as it was for Grandpa and, had they not disappeared, it would already be theirs.

“I was furious with you, Tom.” Morgan buckled his seatbelt. “You got into a fight two weeks after I finally became your legal guardian. Really? Don’t you remember how difficult it was? All the hurdles and hoops? What would those people at the board say if they knew about this fight?” 

“I tried to talk first, Gramps, I’m sorry.”

“Well,” his grandfather pursed his lips and turned on the ignition. “You should be. Let’s go.”

As they drove away, Thomas saw Killjoy leaving the school and, for a second, he thought she smiled at him.

“So,” Thomas asked once they pulled out from the school driveway. “We’re good? You’re not mad?”

“Oh no, I said I was furious.” Grandpa turned on the radio to one of his sixties stations. Bob Dylan was asking once again how it felt to be a rolling stone. Grandpa immediately joined in with the rhythm, tapping on the wheel with his hand.

 “Until Miss Khanna told me that you beat up three kids today and…” he slapped the wheel and mouthed the words of the last chorus.

  “And?” Thomas asked. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

“And I told her that three against one wasn’t my idea of a fair fight, especially since they are older than you. Aren’t they?”

“Well, yeah. But just by a year. They’re juniors.”

“Do you go beating up freshmen?”

“No.”

“Well, there you go. You didn’t start the fight, did you?”

Thomas lifted up his hands. “No, I swear I didn’t.”

“But you did finish it and I can’t get mad at you because you defended yourself. I told Miss Khanna that only cowards gang up on someone and that I expected the parents of those kids to give us a call to apologize.”

“Really?” Thomas was sure that if Killjoy called the parents of Roger and company, his social life at school was over before it even got started. “And what did she say?”

“That you’re suspended for a week without it going on your permanent record. To keep appearances.” Grandpa turned the radio dial; The Rolling Stones were  playing Sympathy for the devil.  “Those boys belong to the school’s football team, one is the running back. He had a big game this weekend that he’s not going to play, and if they lose and she doesn’t punish you somehow, well, I’m sure you know just how popular you would have become. Nice going champ. Good way to make friends.”

“But is she calling their parents or not?” It was great that Killjoy wouldn’t put the fight on his record, but she could still destroy his social life with that call.

“Of course she will.” Grandpa parked inside of their garage. “But, to tell their parents that they beat you up, and that they have extra duties at the school for a month.” He looked at Thomas and winked. “She also has her Killjoy reputation to keep, you know?”

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