The deepest emotions I believe anyone might experience in this life are those of love. Be it for a friend, family member, lover, or a soulmate… our ties to these people are some of the most intimate that we might ever come to know. As of late, this has been my focus. While romance is not going to be the centermost plot in either of my current WIPs. It does impact and influence a number of my character’s motivations, values, and even actions.
Yet, putting them to paper can be so hard. Especially when the feelings develop over time through the simplest of interactions and gestures. For to me, that is sometimes how the most true and long lasting loves and relationships are built.
In the medieval fantasy I’m working on, things as simple as a dance can cause sparks. Sometimes, people just connect in the most unexpected ways. Maybe it’s just meant to be. With these two, despite their differences, I would like to believe that…
Excerpt from Warlock’s Chronicle – A Rise To Power: Our steps quickened as we danced through the busy streets to the grand pavilion in the center of Fenoran. The horn joined the flute, drums and tambourine overpowered the lute. Bright yellow and orange dressed musicians frolicked ahead of us, their movements lively like the music they played. My heart pounded and my breath was ragged when Rosalynd spun in toward me. Her chest heaved against mine. I grinned at the blush that flooded her face, and it only broadened as we moved in unison, dancing cheek to cheek. The music faded, but I held her there and the crowds vanished along with the shops and stalls. In that instant, time seemed not to exist. There was only her.
Rosalynd’s head turned and she looked at me. She met and held my gaze. The orange-gold flames that burned in her eyes warmed, like wood crackling in firelight. She leaned in, her full lips almost touching mine. A knot formed in my stomach. My hand at her waist, pressed to the small of her back. The other released her hand so that I might touch her long dark hair.
Lending A Hand
In my other work in progress, two proud people who have experienced their share of pain and heartache start to connect in the process of lending the other a hand.
Excerpt from: Seeking Justice
I stepped to the side and let him by. The upstairs bedroom door creaked and closed softly behind him. Fingers trailing the bannister, I went back downstairs again. My hat and coat hung on a chair near the fire’s warm glow. After I took off my boots and set them beside the chair, I stood near the living room window.
Rain pattered the glass. Lightning tore a silver thread in night’s bustle. Wind whistled through the limbs of the maple tree outside. Corn stalks lashed at the air like the angry whips.
“It sure is comin’ down,” Jeremy said, descending the stairs.
I faced him.
He clutched his side.
I cocked my head to take a peek at his ribs. “Best get this cleaned up.”
“Bullet grazed me,” he said and sat down on the sofa.
When I saw no cabinets or drawers in the living room, I proceeded to walk about the house and rummage through things. “Where do ya keep the bowls and linens?”
Jeremy called back to me. “Bowls are in the kitchen hutch. Linens should be inside the drawer.”
My boots squeaked on the hardwood floors. The drawer under the hutch creaked as I yanked it open and pocketed some linens. A large basin set on the top shelf next to the china. Got up on my tip toes and ran my fingers along the inside of the dust riddled hutch. The bowl slid forward. I caught it in my arms before fetching some water and coming to sit beside Jeremy on the couch.
He inhaled sharply, when the cold rag touched his flesh. Pulling it back, the skin beneath looked clean. The wound wasn’t deep and the bleeding stopped. He wouldn’t need to be stitched up.
“You’re lucky, that bullet very well might’ve killed ya.” His eyes caught mine when I glanced up from those tan muscles, his eyes caught mine. My fingers grasped the bloodied linens to keep them from shaking.
Jeremy’s eyes wandered a moment, looking me up and then down. “Does trouble follow ya everywhere ya go?”
“Just what are ya saying?” I snapped.
“I’m sayin’ I’ve never known a lady to go wrestlin’ a man for a knife. Nor have I seen one go searching for so much trouble.” He shook his head. “It’s like chasing tumbleweeds.”
A pang filled my chest, and my cheeks flushed at the memory of Ma once telling something similar. “Comes with the job,” I replied though my breath hitched a moment later as the rag fell from my hand to clasp his chin. The not quite week old stubble tickled.
He turned his head. “Yeah, maybe so.”
I brought a clean linen to dab his jaw but didn’t grace that with a response.
“I’ll bring ya something to wear and some warm blankets,” he said with a cough and moseyed on into the bedroom. I stayed by the fire until he put me on the spot. “Ya settlin’ in the guestroom? Or are ya more comfortable restin’ yourself down there?”
“I figured I’d settle myself here on the couch.”
“Suit yourself,” he muttered. “I’ll be back with those blankets.”
The room got quiet again, wet clothes chilled my skin. Rain continued to patter on the roof. The storm had died down. Still, I couldn’t go nowhere, and being cooped up in a stranger’s house didn’t help.
Jeremy returned with a bundle in his arms. “Know it ain’t much, but got ya a dry shirt along with a couple blankets.” He put them on the couch and glanced at me. “That way ya got somethin’ to wear while those dry.”
“Why are ya doin’ this?” I asked.
“Bein’ nice. You don’t know me or owe me anythin.”
He nodded. “You’re right, I don’t, but the way I figured it, even you could use some help.”