A Page Straight From Ginger Simpson #apagestraightfrom

Beaches

by

Ginger Simpson

This book is rated for adult reading only

Katie Franklins shredded a paper napkin and tossed the remnants on the kitchen table.  Her best friend, Irene sat across from her and let Katie rant. She needed a good listener right now. 

The mess she’d made on the table reminded her of her life—in bits and pieces. Staring into the cup of coffee in front of her, she shook her head at her reflection. “I’m a married woman.  I have to end this affair!” The words replayed in her mind until she wanted to tear her hair out.

Her shoulders sagged but she looked at Irene, seeking an answer. “How did I get into such a predicament? Falling in love with one man while still married to another? Honestly? My body’s sensual needs must have possessed my subconscious mind and made me commit this sinful deed.  What do I do?”

Male attention was the magnet that drew her to Joey, and now she couldn’t imagine life without him. At twenty-eight, attracting a twenty-five-year-old flattered her.  His smile, his broad shoulders…everything about him stirred passion she hadn’t felt in ages. She never intended to fall into bed with him; the attraction was just too much.  Being near him blurred her reasoning.

Irene, like a trained counselor, offered no solution, instead let Katie work through her own issues.

“Joey makes me feel sensuous and alive…so unlike the relationship between me and Rick. With Joey, I discovered my lost confidence and found desire again. But is it real?  Seven years ago Rick looked at me with the same accepting love in his eyes. How did our marriage go so wrong? 

She flashed back to earlier days…when Rick’s touch ignited a fire within her soul.  “You know, Irene, there was a time when I actually waited for Rick to come home…wanting to taste his kisses and feel his hands on my body, but something happened after Brandon was born.  The passion just dwindled away.”

Wasn’t having a child supposed to bring people closer together…make them a family? A baby sure hadn’t worked any magic in their home. In fact, her pregnancy ended any intimacy she and Rick shared.  Oh, they still had sex, but other than physical release, they shared nothing with one another. Katie lowered her head into her palms and heaved a sigh.

“Maybe if I’d lost the baby weight sooner, I never would have gone with you to Beaches.  What if…oh Hell, no matter what scenario I apply to my predicament, nothing changes.  Should a few extra pounds matter if you truly love someone?”

Katie closed her eyes and shuddered, the frustration becoming more than she could bear. “Why can’t Rick see I’m the same person I’ve always been. Even when I was heavier, I had the same heart, feelings and needs… I didn’t really change, but he did.  His endless cruel puns got to me…turned our marriage sour and made me doubt my feeling for him.  He drove me right into Joey’s arms…didn’t he?”

Irene shrugged.

Katie took a sip of cold coffee and then released a loud breath.  “It’s taken me several months, but now I’m back to what I weighed before I got pregnant.  What I don’t understand is Rick’s sudden renewed interest in me.”  She fisted her hands and pounded on the table, sloshing her decaf over the cup’s side. “How can I forget all the terrible things he said or forgive how degraded he made me feel? Am I wrong to hold on to the hurt?”

Irene picked up her cup and blew away the steam.  Her gaze focused on Katie.  “Do you blame me?”

“No…” She shook her head.  “No way.  You didn’t hold a gun to my head and make me go with you. We just happened to be in Beaches the same night Joey was there.  That’s not your fault.  Still, I can’t stop fantasizing about him, but do I even have the right?” Tension pounded in her temples. She never expected things to become so confusing. Was it fate or luck that drew her to her lover? Was he just a passing fancy or was he the reason to end her marriage?

Katie rose from the table and poured her remaining coffee down the sink.  She used what was left of the napkin to mop up her spill then threw the wadded paper into the garbage. Katie sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and stared out the window over the sink. The gray clouds scudding by defined her mood. “No matter how I look at things, I’m still married and what I’m doing is wrong. Even if Rick’s touch leaves me cold, and his sexual innuendos do nothing to entice me, he’s still my husband.  You know, I actually dread his coming home from work, and especially, bedtime. He won’t take no for an answer no matter how much I protest.”

  Tears she’d successfully restrained all morning trickled down her cheeks like the rain pinging against the windowpane. One way or another, she needed to make a decision, and soon.

A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM GINGER SIMPSON #apagestraightfrom

 The Well

By

Ginger Simpson

She glanced around the property and gasped.  The house’s windows were shuttered, and the ground between the house and barn, once worn smooth by wagon wheels and walking back and forth to gather eggs and feed the stock now showed overgrowth.  The corral was empty, and wheel marks still etched the dusty ground beyond the yard and disappeared into an endless prairie. The barn doors squealed in protest against the wind and created an eerie, lonely sound.

She turned wide eyes on the stranger then lowered her chin to her chest and slowly shook her head.  “My family is supposed to be here.  I wondered why they never answered my cries for help.”

“How on earth did you end up in the well?” He ignored her apparent concern for her missing family, and his gaze drifted beyond  her wet cloaking dress to her worn boots.  “We’ll need to find you a change of clothes before you catch the ague.”

“Never mind my clothes,” she spat.  “Put me down and I’ll prove this is my home.”

“First, answer my question.”  He held her firmly.

She leaned her head back and locked gazes with him. “All right. I fell.  Pa told me I needed to stretch out the amount of water left because of the long dry spell, so I leaned over to see how much remained in the well, and the old stone collapsed beneath me. I yelled for help, but no one came, and eventually someone covered the opening.  I can’t imagine why Ma, Pa or Hannah never checked on me.  I guess they figured I was dead and the  well was my grave.  I was certain I was going to die until you came along.”

Her gaze drifted to a wet outline on his shoulder, where her head had rested.  “Oh Lord, I’m ruining your shirt.  You’d best put me down.”

“Are you sure?”

“You said I needed a change of clothes, and I have dry ones inside.  Come with me and I’ll show you people really live here.”

Logan lowered her to her feet and she immediately crumpled into a  helpless heap on the ground.  He stood back with his hands on his hips.  “I guess your fall did more damage than you want to admit.  You have dried blood on your cheek.”

**********

This book is my foray into self-publishing.  I can't guarantee it's error free but I had two beta readers help proof and I love the story and Harlee's relationship with Logan.  You can find The Well on my Amazon page.  Join me next week for another page from who know's who.  *lol*

A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM FRANK TALABER #apagestraightffrom

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Raven's Lament

by

Frank Talaber

AT TIMES WE ARE BROKEN...

Brook Grant stared at the ‘Dear John’ letter Georgina left last month. Her empty closet and dresser answered any questions he might have had about a possible reconciliation. To distract himself, he flipped through the pages of his journal again, trying to retrace his footsteps at Ninstints. The totems had intrigued him then, filled him with an ache for what was lost. How could the vibrancy of the Haida and their artistry be reduced to yellowed photographs consigned to musty books?

            Reading his entries brought the realization he’d lost that feeling of living on the edge, like walking between worlds. Georgina’s departure left him feeling empty. Adrift, with no compass to guide him.

            She was supposed to be his one true love. Soul mates. But somewhere, between the illusion of commitment and his belief in the relationship, he let it all slip away; including the romance. Just like the Haida at Sghaan Gway, where now only enigmatic gods etched into cedar remained; she was gone.

            His diary peered back at him like the faces in the totems. Where had he gone wrong? Seeking the answers, he’d begun searching his diaries only to come across the memoirs of his trip to the Charlottes. Evocative memories, yet none bringing him any solace. How could you let her go? How did you not see this coming? Did you care?

            He’d written, ‘There are nights on the West Coast, particularly on the mist-shrouded isles of the Queen Charlottes, when the fog rolls in so thick it mutes the background thunder of the surf. Nights, when if you look closely enough, wavering shapes emerge in the full moon’s shimmering light. A breath of cold wind brushes against your face and you shiver, believing as the Haida do, that you’ve been caressed by the spirits. Soon you begin to understand why they say everything has a soul and that we are anchored to this realm and to our physical bodies only by tenuous threads of waangaay, of spirit.

            The Haida call this place Xhaaydla Gwaayaay, the Islands on the Boundary between worlds.

            The three Watchmen that crowned most poles squinted out from under top hats of outlandish ferns, bearing coats of moss and lichens, staring with empty eyes and mute tongues. Eternally watching.'

Calling, but to what?

            A line from a familiar song played in his head: only time can mend a broken heart. Then how do you fill a gaping hole in your soul?

            Staring with empty eyes and mute tongues, the totems towered in his memory. Silent faces full of voices speaking to a quiet place inside him where he was unbroken. The place he needed to return to.

BUY LINKS:

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A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM VICTORIA CHATHAM #apagestraightfrom

 Shell Shocked – The Buxton Chronicles Book 3 

by

 Victoria Chatham

This couldn’t possibly be the news every household dreaded.

The slow and steady drum of her pulse quickly speeded up to a fevered throb in her wrists and pounding in her temples until she thought her head would explode. Her vision wavered and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill racing up her spine. The movement caused her to breathe again, an exhale that rasped through her throat and deflated her lungs, causing her to gasp.

She looked again into Jenkins’ face; saw the compassion in his soft brown eyes before he lowered his gaze against the intensity he no doubt saw in hers.

She glanced once at the telegram lying in the centre of the tray. The incongruity of such a plain envelope being served in such a pretty fashion was not lost on her, but that thought evaporated as her hand, almost of its own volition, reached out. She had no sense of her brain sending a message to her fingers and watched in surprise as her almost disembodied arm hung woodenly in the air. Then her chilled fingers connected with the envelope.

As reality crept back into her consciousness, she saw that one edge of the rain-speckled missive bore a smudged finger print. Could it be ink from the telegraph operator, or just the post boy’s grubby thumb? She picked up the telegram and turned it over in her fingers before lifting the flap and hesitantly removing the slip of paper it contained.

Holding her breath, she opened the single sheet and scanned the contents. Her searching gaze skimmed over the words ‘Priority’ and ‘Deeply regret’ until one word jumped out at her.

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A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM ROSEANNE DOWELL... #apagestraightfrom

Ring Around The Rosy

by

Roseanne Dowell

Georgie Porgie pudding and pie kissed the girls and made them cry — now it’s time to die.

He released his hands from the victim’s neck, and the lifeless body slumped to the ground. He stood back, and stared at it in disgust.

“You thought you were so cool, didn’t you, George? Playing all the girls like that. You could’ve had anyone you wanted, but you weren’t satisfied with one. You wanted them all. Then you broke their hearts and left everyone else to pick up the pieces.”

He stooped down, lifted George’s head, and propped it against a rock, then pulled a tube of lipstick from his pocket and smeared it across the victim’s mouth. How many times had he seen George wipe off his lips coming out of the locker room? “You won’t wipe it off this time, Buddy.”

He stuffed a paper into George’s hand and tightened his fingers around it. “You don’t look too cool now.” He laughed and pulled a container of pudding and a strawberry pie out of his knapsack, opened them, and dumped them over George’s head. The gooey mixture ran down George’s face.

He licked his lips. “You poor, pathetic bastard.”

Gathering up his knapsack, he took one last look at the body, then turned and ran from the park. His job was done.

***

Susan propped the News Gazette on the counter and focused on the headline. ‘Georgie Porgie, Pudding and Die’ by Susan Weston, it blared at her. Her headline. Her story. She’d done it. Finally got her headline. She drummed her hands on the counter and did a little dance step. She swore if her grin got any wider her face would crack. .”Susan Weston, journalist!” she shouted. God, she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

The ringing phone startled her. “Who the heck is calling at this hour? “ She grabbed the phone. “Hello.” Bella rubbed against her legs, waiting to be fed. “Hello?” Susan grabbed the box of kitty food, filled the bowl, and set it on the floor.

“Hello,” she repeated, ready to hang up if no one answered this time.

The evil, raspy voice on the other end sent goose-bumps up her spine. “Who is this?” she whispered.

The voice mumbled something she could barely hear.

“Strawberries? What are you talking about?”

“Just for you,” the garbled voice continued.

“I can’t hear you. Who is this?” What kind of sick joke is this?

She caught the words, “loved your headline,” more garbled words, and “Watch for Jack be nimble.” Then the phone line went dead.

Susan grabbed the counter to steady herself. Her hand trembled, and she stared at the phone. She dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if it was on fire. But she couldn’t stop the trembling. Her stomach churned. Nausea filled her throat. What was wrong with her? Just someone playing a sick joke. This wasn’t her first crank call, why react like this? Maybe because none of the others had sounded like this.

Buy link: Amazon

A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM GINGER SIMPSON #apagestraightfrom

White Heart, Lakota Spirit

by

Ginger Simpson

 Her gaze dropped to examine her hands. Her once-manicured nails were now jagged from hard work, and scraping countless

animals hides had calloused her palms. Gone was the naive and helpless Cecile, and in her place, Green Eyes, a woman who decorated clothing with beautiful quills, made moccasins from softened hides, and even erected tepees.

During their trip to the village, Lone Eagle had kept assuring her she would be safe, but the Sioux’s reception made her question his promise. Curious at first, then angry, the villagers demanded to know why he had brought a white woman to their home. But, little by little she gained their acceptance, and found peace and contentment with the very people she thought hated her.

A few loving faces crossed her mind—Rain Woman, her Un`ci

or grandmother, the tribe’s beloved medicine woman, with her

leathery complexion and toothless grin. And Little Dove, petite and delicately featured, a treasured friend and sister-in-law. Both had been among the first to offer their friendship. Spotted Doe,

Green Eyes’ only real enemy, was dead because she couldn’t accept that Lone Eagle chose a white woman over her. In a pursuit to find where Spotted Doe had hidden Green Eye’s son, the frantic

woman lost her footing and fell to her death. Where had the past eight years gone?

Somewhere in the village another sorrowful cry drew her thoughts back to present–the irony struck her. Today, amongst all the grief, came a reason to celebrate. Lone Eagle would become

the new chief.

This book was published by Eternal Press and is available on my Amazon page in both download and print.  If you know about history between the red and whites, then you will understand  this book is in no way sexist, and I certainly don't see how someone could compare my beautiful cover to something from Fredericks of Hollywood.  These are just some of the comments made by trolls on Amazon, so if you like what you read, I'd appreciate a REAL review.  I'm so pleased that Amazon has changed the review process so that people actually have to READ the book in order to leave comments.

A PAGE STRAIGHT FROM...#apagestraightfrom

Yellow Moon

by

Ginger Simpson

Yellow Moon, stood in the arena and eyed the sacred tree.  It’s colorful paintings and images of the buffalo and other trinkets attested to a pending ceremony.  Warriors, dressed as the wooly beasts that sustained the tribes, gathered for a final buffalo dance to herald the piercing of children’s ears.  Yellow Moon wasn’t sure of the reason, but considered it some sort of initiation into the tribe.

While dancing and piercings took place, a runner was sent to summon the Sun Dancers from their lodges where they fasted and meditated.

Very few of the children even muttered a sound as holes were put into each ear lobe.  Taught from birth that silence could save their lives, their bravery was a testimony of their mother’s patience and love.  Would she be a good mother? 

  Yellow Moon turned to the girl next to her.  “Are you as happy as I am that women are excused from having to perform the Sun Dance?”

“Why is that?”  The young woman asked.

“Are you Lakota?”  Inquisitiveness cocked Yellow Moon’s head.

“I am Falling Snow of the Dakota.”

“Oh. Then you also follow Sioux belief that childbirth is even more painful than the levels experienced during the Sun Dance.  That is the reason we are excused.”  She looked back to the dancers and than back to Falling Snow.  “I have seen many births in the women’s hut.  Have you?”

The young woman shook her head, her gaze focused on the line of children.  “There is my brother.”  She pointed out a boy who appeared to be around ten summers, then waved and smiled.

“He looks very brave.  I hope I can be when my time comes to give birth. Although I want many children, I do not look forward to squatting over a trough in the ground while grasping a pole to help me expel my baby.”

Falling Snow’s nose crinkled. “I have heard the cries of many families who have lost a beloved wife and mother to birthing a child.  The thought scares me.”  The girl’s throat wobbled with a hard swallow of remembrance.

“I too, have heard those cries, and watched firsthand during my monthly time, while mothers and babies were called home by the Great Spirit.  We can only pray we are one of the lucky ones when our time comes to be called Ina.”

Falling Snow nodded.  “Do you have a husband?”

“I have been promised to Thunder Eyes of the Santee.  He will dance today.”

The piercings ended and their conversation cut short when the Sun Dancers entered the arena.  Their painted bodies displayed the expected myriad of colors and symbols, and they followed two holy men to a bed of sage beneath the tree.  Those to be skewered lay upon the aromatic herbs while those who chose only to dance or have minor pain inflicted stood to the side.  Her gaze roamed the faces of those standing, looking for someone who resembled Thunder Eyes.  No one came close to looking as handsome.

She shifted her gaze to Thunder Eyes, who lay unflinching, while staring in thought and concentration.  Pride swelled Yellow Moon’s heart.  Was this what Ina felt at hearing her daughter’s name called?

Yellow Moon turned away and picked up a sage wreath with two spiked feathers attached.  She purposely averted her gaze when the holy man knelt to make incisions in her intended’s chest.  She looked back in time to see an awl drawn through the cuts, a wooden peg inserted through the gaping skin to which a rawhide rope, symbolizing an umbilical cord was attached.  She gnashed her teeth for his pain.  Tethered to the tree, Thunder Eyes was to dance while staring at the sun until his skin tore free.  How, she wondered, could childbirth hurt more?

With blood trickling down his chest, but his face still stoic and emotionless, Thunder Eyes was helped to his feet.  Yellow Moon, as instructed previously, stepped forward and placed the sage wreath upon his head.  “You are so brave,” she whispered. 

He gave no indication he’d heard, and adjusted his head adornment.

As the dance began, the sound of bone whistles filled the air.  Thunder Eyes, and the others connected to the Cottonwood approached the tree four times, and with each forward movement, touched the wood with their palms.  Yellow Moon joined the tribal prayers chanted by all to send strength and valor to the tree so those traits passed through to the participants with each contact they made. 

The dance seemed endless.  Only Thunder Eyes remained upright.  Other’s had torn away their flesh and fallen to the ground, still others had passed out from pain.  Those who chose to make less of a sacrifice danced to the side, their movements barely noticed by the crowd as most eyes focused on the skewers that tugged at Thunder Eyes’ chest.  His face remained impassionate and his mood, focused.

His body slanted away from the tree while blood seeped from his wounds, and the rawhide pulling his flesh into peaks made Yellow Moon wince.  His face to the sky, Thunder Eyes’ eagle-bone whistle sounded with each move he made.  Was blowing the instrument his way of dealing with the pain?

The sun had moved to the other side of the sky when he finally fell to his knees in exhaustion.  He quickly struggled to his feet and continued his dance, but only for a short time before the sound of tearing skin replaced his constant whistle.  Fresh red ran from his wounds, but the pleased look on his face denied any pain.  The Sun Dance was over, and Yellow Moon gazed with admiration and respect at her soon-to-be husband before he disappeared into the throngs of people who rushed forward to reward and congratulate him and the others.

Published by Books We Love and available on Amazon.