Spotlight: The Chaos of Change by J.T. Riggen

A second revolution...A second civil war...New-age American heroes will rise and fall...The struggle in the new world begins.

Welcome to the imminent future: the American political gap is maximized; the individual states have begun clamoring for the disbandment of their federal government for its lack of stability; multiple power-hungry groups lick their chops at the thought of grabbing the reigns of the United States of America. And then a nation defining incident occurs, Article V of the U.S. Constitution is activated, and three sovereign territories come into existence.

But this hardly bothers Thaddeus Jackson – the son of a popular former president – who had money, fame, and a promising career in politics…until he ran away to the Alaskan wilderness to live in peace away from his family and the growing civil unrest.

What few know is that an elite group – led by Shane Wallace, Director of the CIA – has taken action. They recruit the very hesitant Thaddeus to be part of a diplomatic team tasked to negotiate the seemingly impossible peace between the liberal leaders of the North and his dysfunctional, republican family that now runs the South. The team includes Lozen Kyway, a highly-trained female agent turned bodyguard; Dr. Andreas Albrecht, a brilliant engineer and scientist who believes he’s discovered a truly sustainable, albeit dangerous, energy source; and Tomas Martinez, the former Vice President.

This elite group, and all its supporting team, will come together in a race against the clock to divert the territories away from war. New-age patriots will rise and fall, and new threats to democracy – never before imagined – will emerge from the shadows. Can the well-intentioned come together fast enough to ward off war in the states? Whose intentions are noble? Whose are full of malicious intent? Prepare yourself for an American era teeming with espionage, lies, murder, manipulation...The Chaos of Change!

Riggen's second novel, The Chaos of Change, is a new edition to the great political thriller traditions of Brad Meltzer, Barry Eisler, and Tim Tigner.

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About the Author

I grew up in a creative household. My mother was a teacher of grades 4-6 and was always in pursuit of new, inventive ways to stimulate her students' (and own children's) minds. My father was a principal with an extensive background in special education giving him a special sense for communicating in adaptive and unique ways. Growing up, we (my mother, father, brother, and sister) spent as many summers as I can remember in a quaint cabin in the northeast region of Vermont. No TV, no movies, just imagination and, literally, an old transistor radio. Story telling has been in my life for as long as I can remember, but just recently, it has become a formal passion. I love getting lost in different worlds, lost in the psyche of different characters, and slowly -- at times painfully so -- building a novel, from the first word on the page to the last.

Rest assuredly, while you read this, I have a cup of coffee in my hand, day-dreaming up another world of hopeful characters full of dark intentions, and plot lines riddled with twists and turns.

My first novel was a fictional thriller titled, "Uptown". It received a "Seal of Approval" from the Indie Reader. Uptown was a novel heavily influenced by the movie "Heat," starring Al Pacino and Robert Deniro (they don't make movies like that anymore). Shortly after its release, I began my second formal endeavor: "The Chaos of Change". I have since halted Uptown's publication as I am working on a better version of itself. The original manuscript earned a certificate of excellence. Imagine what the rebooted version will be like! Check out my website www.jtriggen.com to join my newsletter for updates on future book releases, and MUCH more content. 

TCOC (The Chaos of Change) takes place in a not-far-from-reality parallel of the current political times. It highlights human beings' resistance to change as well as their unfortunate drive towards self-benefit. It also uncovers the hope that there are new-age American heroes out there who are fit to lead this country in wonderful and genius ways. But beware: the world you are about to enter into is addicting. Only purchase the novel if you dare enter into the chaos!

Connect: Website | Twitter: @JTRiggen | Facebook: @authorJTRiggen

Spotlight: The Mountain by Charles G. Thompson

If you are looking for a book on mountaineering, this is not your read. In, The Mountain, I will be sharing experiences about the mountains or challenges we all face daily. I chose the cover photo because it is a favorite of mine and Jeanne's. It was taken by an old inexpensive digital pocket camera balanced on a rock, using the camera's timer. We had just come from a shelter above Zermatt, Switzerland and crested a hill when this scene came into view. The date was September 10, 2001. We had no communication with the outside world. There were no phones, no computers, no mail service, until we were in Vernaza, Italy the next afternoon. Where were you on 9/11?

Excerpt

A IS FOR APPLE

The first thing I do every morning is eat a cold, honey crisp apple. It seems to sooth me and give me just enough of a boost to get the day going. The last thing I do before going to bed is have personal prayer with Jeanne. Those prayers are filled with gratitude, forgiveness, prayers for specific people with issues in their life and thanks to my Heavenly Father for another day to serve him on earth.

Many nights I go to bed and determine I will have a good attitude the next day, no matter what happens along the way. This book has a lot to do with a positive attitude and a willingness to keep going. All through history miracles have been witnessed by individuals never giving up and their good attitudes.

I like to swing my feet out of bed, eat an apple, shower, and determine that I’m going to have a good attitude for the day. It drives Satan crazy when he cannot break me and the good attitude is kind of like putting a protective shell around me.

Why are some people more successful than others? It isn’t looks, degree, or IQ. It is usually their life’s approach.

Last night, a nice young man came by selling bug protection. It was not inexpensive and I nearly asked him to leave. His next comment was, “Is there anything I can do for you Mr. Thompson?”

He looked me in the eye, called me by name, and there was a genuine kindness in his approach. I witnessed the same thing when I worked in retail many years ago. A salesman in the men’s department was making more money than management. They decided to move him out and the department’s sales went down and eventually he left the company to start his own business which became successful overnight. People loved the way he took care of them and his great attitude.

Another example concerns a good friend of mine who opened a shoe store. The prices are high, but nobody ever walks out feeling he or she is not treated fairly. In many cases these same people feel as if their shoes are even more comfortable than what they are used to wearing. The owner is a kind person who will always take time for his customers, especially ones with injuries or problems with their feet. He saved me by making custom orthotics that were not inexpensive. They made such a difference I have told this story to many of my friends. Most have had similar experiences.

One last story: a man was in a restaurant and asked if they had diet Coke. The manager quickly said, “Pepsi products only.” When the customer came back to his table there was a cold bottle of diet coke and glass of ice with his meal. The customer asked, “I thought you didn’t carry Coke products.” The waiter’s response: “The bar down the street was happy to get me one.”

I believe in going the extra mile with a smile; the smile will always pay a handsome dividend.

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About the Author

Chuck Thompson grew up in a suburb of Minneapolis, living on a lake called Minnetonka. His parents were good examples who wanted the best for him. He attended a highly ranked preparatory school and graduated from the University of Utah. It was at the U that he met his wife, Jeanne, who has become his best friend for over 45 years. Chuck says he is just a normal guy who has done his best as a provider. He and Jeanne are proud parents of 3 children and 1 grandson. As a family, he has traveled extensively and enjoys Zion's Park.

Chuck became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (Mormon) in 1971. For 35 years, he was in sales for a high-end manufacturing company that packaged for cosmetics, medical, and food companies. He hopes his legacy will be the relationships he had with his customers and not his sales dollars.

He loves dark chocolate, the Andy Griffith Show, traveling the world with Jeanne, hiking, and backpacking. Together, they love to backpack and ride the rails in Europe. He has enjoyed classic cars and motorcycles, and frankly admits he's a list maker.

Chuck passed away peacefully after a two-year battle with brain cancer, a stage 4 glioblastoma, on July 15, 2017. He lived a miraculous two years after being diagnosed. Every day, Chuck would wake up and say, "I got another day!" He lived and believed each day was a precious gift.

Spotlight: The Duke Who Came To Town by Sophie Barnes

She doesn’t want to be a kept woman…

Josephine Potter knows she must retain her employment to provide for her younger sisters and to maintain the house. While a young woman working as an accountant – at a hotel no less – could be frowned upon by some, it’s still a respectable way to earn a living. No matter what a certain duke might think. Besides, Josephine has a few rules she lives by: Don’t rely on others, don’t accept money from someone you don’t know, and never allow a man to control your life. But when she is fired from her job, Josephine may have to bend a few rules…

Devon, the Duke of Snowdon, has never met a more bull-headed woman than Josephine Potter! The Potter sisters are granddaughters of a Viscount and should not have to work for a living. So despite Josephine’s arguments, Devon insists she end her employee status immediately and accept a stipend for her and her sisters. When she is then fired, she accuses him of meddling in her life…and things are about to heat up despite the cold winter weather. As they work together to figure out why Devon’s hotel is losing money, a mutual attraction that won’t be denied, grows between them.

But when rumors of impropriety abound, can Josephine’s reputation be saved…or will her life be destroyed by scandal?

Excerpt

Josephine waited until the coach carrying her youngest sister, Eve, out to the Great West Road had turned a corner, disappearing from sight. She then wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and started making her way back toward the townhouse they’d shared with their other sister, Louise, until yesterday. The place would be empty now with both sisters away. Eve had been invited to visit with a friend for the holidays, while Louise had gone to Whitehaven in the northern part of the country to become a governess to three young children.

Some extra income would certainly be welcome. Josephine wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to cover their expenses on her own. The townhouse, alone, took most of her wages, while food and clothing swallowed the rest. It was a struggle, but to accept defeat and relocate to humbler lodgings was out of the question. Already, they’d had to give up the status their Mayfair home and country estate had once afforded them. As the great-granddaughters of an earl, they’d enjoyed a comfortable position in society—until their father had squandered it all in a downward spiral of drink and depression.

Pushing the unpleasant memories as far back as they would go, Josephine determined to focus on the future. The townhouse wasn’t the only thing at stake. There were also Eve’s prospects and their reputations. While Josephine and Louise had resigned themselves to working for a living, they both hoped Eve might still be able to enjoy the Season they’d been denied, that she might marry well, and that her life might be a little easier and happier than what they faced. There would be no large dowry, only the meager sum Josephine had managed to put aside during the last year since their father’s death: a few wages here, a bit of pawned jewelry there.

Turning onto Vine Street, Josephine bowed her head against the gust of wind sweeping toward her. She’d used the last firewood that morning and would have to see about buying more –yet another cost eating away at her income. But this was England, and they were only in December. It would be several months before she’d be able to forego heating. Unless she wished to get sick and not only risk losing her job but also having to pay the exorbitant fee of seeing a doctor. To do so was not an option, so when she spotted a woman with firewood strapped to her back, Josephine crossed the street and made her approach. “How much for three pieces?” It was all she could carry.

“Thirty pence, love.”

Swallowing the bitterness of surrendering the sum, Josephine exchanged the coins for the wood and resumed walking, pushing through the wind as it whipped her skirts around her legs.

She was almost at her door before she noticed the carriage parked at the side of the road. The two black horses hitched to the front of it silently watched her progress. Giving them a wary glance, Josephine balanced the firewood in one arm so she could retrieve her key from her pelisse pocket.

Her face burned with cold and she took a step forward, prepared to seek refuge indoors, when the carriage door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped down onto the pavement. His hair was black beneath his beaver hat, his features matching the harsh winter climate. Eyes as dark as night caught hers, and his jaw immediately set with distinct determination.

“Miss Potter?” He shoved the carriage door shut and strode toward her. The wind caught the hem of his somber greatcoat, forcing it out behind him in jerky movements.

Josephine raised her chin. “Who wants to know?”

Halting his approach, he told her frankly, “The Duke of Snowdon.” He dipped his head and touched the brim of his hat. “At your service.”

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About the Author

Born in Denmark, Sophie has spent her youth traveling with her parents to wonderful places all around the world. She’s lived in five different countries, on three different continents, and speaks Danish, English, French, Spanish and Romanian.

She has studied design in Paris and New York and has a bachelor’s degree from Parson’s School of design, but most impressive of all – she’s been married to the same man three times, in three different countries and in three different dresses.

While living in Africa, Sophie turned to her lifelong passion – writing.

When she’s not busy, dreaming up her next romance novel, Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, swimming, cooking, gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading. She currently lives on the East Coast.

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Read an excerpt from Her Last Day by T.R. Ragan

Ten years ago, PI Jessie Cole and reporter Ben Morrison each suffered a tragedy that changed their lives—and now these two strangers are about to share a nightmare.

For Jessie, who makes her living finding missing persons, no case has consumed her more than the disappearance of her younger sister, Sophie. But left alone to raise Sophie’s daughter, she realizes that solving the case has become an unhealthy obsession.

For Ben, a horrific car accident resulted in scars both physical and emotional—and amnesia that has made his life a mystery. But curiously, out of his shattered memories, there’s one person he recognizes without a doubt: Jessie’s sister. He just doesn’t know why. Yet.

But Sophie isn’t the only phantom drawing Jessie and Ben together. An elusive serial murderer known as the Heartless Killer has reemerged from the shadows. His next move will cut even deeper into Jessie’s worst fears. And for Ben, what happens this time is going to be unforgettable.

Excerpt

Prologue

Ten Years Ago

He awoke to the smell of burned flesh. The acrid fumes filled his lungs. The crackling roar of fire was deafening, the smoke thick.

He was trapped within the passenger seat of a car, hanging upside down, a mangled piece of plastic and metal pressed against his stomach. He couldn’t see the bottom part of his legs, but he felt a fiery heat around his feet and ankles.

The car teetered, back and forth, precariously, as if at any moment it might roll into the black abyss he saw through the broken windshield. Every muscle tensed. He had no idea how steep the fall would be if the vehicle lost its bearings.

His lungs burned.

He coughed, tried to breathe, then jerked backward when an arm fell limply through the flames and landed on the middle console. Charred fingers, skin melting from bone.

The driver was engulfed in flames.

They were both going to die if he didn’t find a way out.

Trying to move his legs felt like wasted effort. They were pinned tight and wouldn’t budge. He reached for the buckle, touched searing-hot metal, and let out a shattering scream. Excruciating pain ripped through his body, sending jolts of electricity pulsing through his veins. Yanking his hand back, he watched blisters immediately form on his fingertips as flames licked at his pants from beneath the crushed console.

He held his breath and began desperately banging his elbow against the glass, again and again. The window finally cracked, then shattered.

Throat and lungs parched, he leaned that way, gasping for breath.

Thick plumes of smoke escaped through the jagged hole he’d made and then disappeared into a dark, starless night.

The smell was haunting, the pain intense.

He was running out of time.

Again he grabbed for the buckle. He had no choice. He shouted obscenities through gritted teeth as his fingers clasped tightly to both sides of the metal, his thumb pushing the “Release” button. This time when he smelt burned flesh, he knew it was his.

Click.

He dropped, headfirst, to the ceiling. His right leg came loose, while the other remained pinned above him. Flames were everywhere now, red-hot tongues licking every part of him as he clutched the window frame spiked with shards of glass. Numb with pain, he held tight, every muscle straining as he used his freed leg to push off and yank his other leg free.

Scrambling, he pulled his way through the shattered window and out of the burning death trap. Broken glass ripped through his clothes and cut into flesh as he dragged himself from the wreckage. The pain shooting through his body was nothing compared to the blistering heat. No sooner had he pulled himself free than he was rolling downhill, past a boulder, arms thrashing, fingers grasping for a hold of grass and thorny weeds. Bam! He slammed into the trunk of a tree, his head jolting back with so much force he thought he might have broken his neck.

Seconds passed before he lifted his head, relieved to be away from the smoky wreckage at the top of the hill. He looked the other way. Had he rolled another five feet down the slope, he would have disappeared off a steep embankment and into a gully.

He lay still on grass and dirt, drinking in fresh, cool air as he stared back at the flames that still hissed and popped, sending sparks into the air.

The smell of gas made him think of the driver. Was it too late for the driver to escape?

On his belly, he clawed at the dirt, making his way back up the hill.

With only one good leg, he made it just a few feet before an explosion left his ears ringing. The car burst into flames, sending debris into the sky. He ducked at the sight of metal coming at him. A car door flew past and nearly took off the top of his skull.

A loud, prolonged squeak coming from the wreckage prompted him to lift his head in time to watch the burning metal slowly tilt his way.

Shit!

A hulk of burning rubber and metal came crashing down the hill after him. Putting his weight into his knees, he lunged for the nearest boulder, plastered his body flat into dirt and grass, and waited for the flaming mass to sweep him to his death.

The earth rumbled beneath him. The air was hot, the smell haunting. A whoosh of movement stirred the air above as the mass swept overhead. Another explosion erupted, creating a wall of heat behind him. He pried his face from the dirt and looked down at the wreckage now wrapped around the tree he’d left only moments ago. Whoever had been inside the car could not have survived.

He used his forearms to push himself over so that he was lying on his back, staring up at a dark sky. The kaleidoscope of pain arising from cuts and bruises, broken bones, and blistering skin stopped him from moving again.

Just as well.

He needed to shut his eyes, if only for a moment, before he attempted to claw his way back up the hill. It felt good to close his eyes, even peaceful despite the fire burning a few feet away—a blaze that now sounded like the crackling flames you might hear coming from a fire pit at a campground.

He wondered about the driver then. Was it a he or she? And why didn’t he know? Where had they been going? Each question brought another, but he drew a blank when it came to the answers.

The thing that worried him most, though, had nothing to do with the driver and everything to do with himself.

Dizzy and short of breath, he realized he had no memory of where he’d come from. He didn’t know if he was single or married. No recollection of any children, friends, or family.

Who was he?

© Theresa Ragan, 2017. Republished with permission from Amazon/Thomas and Mercer.

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About the Author

T.R. Ragan (Theresa Ragan) is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. Her exciting Lizzy Gardner series: Abducted, Dead Weight, A Dark Mind, Obsessed, Almost Dead, and Evil Never Dies, has received tremendous praise. In August 2015 Evil Never Dies hit #7 on the Wall Street Journal Bestselling List. Since publishing in 2011, she has sold over two million books and has been mentioned in the Wall Street Journal, the L.A. Times, PC Magazine, Huffington Post, and Publishers Weekly.

Theresa grew up in a family of five girls in Lafayette, California. An avid traveler, her wanderings have carried her to Germany, Ireland, the Netherlands, China, Thailand, and Nepal, where she narrowly survived being chased by a killer elephant. Before devoting herself to writing fiction, she worked as a legal secretary for a large corporation. Theresa and her husband Joe have four children and live in Sacramento, California. 

Read an exclusive excerpt from The Financier by Liz Maverick

Nick Dawes just had to go and prove something to himself. The brilliant moneyman of the Hudson Kings is in deeeep trouble after losing $20 million during a “freelance” heist, and now a Russian crime boss wants the money and Nick’s head. Nick needs to make himself scarce—and find someone to babysit his fish. Someone like lush, gorgeous Jane MacGregor, who might just be the death of him . . .

After being swindled by her jerk of an ex, Jane can’t say no to house-sitting a luxurious Fifth Avenue penthouse. The only downfall—aside from Nick’s tendency to show up covered in bruises and blood—is an increasingly strong attraction to her superhot and expensively suited-up new boss. Never make the same mistake twice

But when Nick’s dangerous profession crashes in on Jane’s quiet little world, all hell breaks loose. And Jane is about to find out just what kind of man she’s falling for.

Exclusive Excerpt

“Why did you stop being an office manager?” Mr. Dawes asked.

Jane flinched.

“Something happened,” Mr. Dawes prompted.

This clearly interested him. Oh, god, here we go. “I was an excellent office manager,” Jane said.

“So?”

Oh, screw it. “I made the mistake of having a relationship with my boss. When it didn’t work out, he made things hard on me.”

A very long silence transpired.

Jane cleared her throat. “That wasn’t in the vetting, I guess. Was that too much or too little information?”

He cocked his head to the side.

Jane leaned forward. “I want you to know that I’m very experienced at handling the unusual. Change has never bothered me, I eat ‘transitions’ for breakfast, and I’m good with difficult men.”

Another long silence.

“Right. Difficult men,” Mr. Dawes said. “Listen, Jane, I need to be straight with you. Part of what I do requires that I hang out with dangerous people. Right now, some of those people aren’t too happy with me. I want to make it clear that I don’t expect any of them to come to my apartment. They are unhappy with me. Only me. But I thought you should know that . . .” He suddenly looked askance, his thoughts far away. “Shit, maybe this—”

Oh, no you don’t take this opportunity away from me! “You work with Cecily’s fiancé, Shane, right?”

“Right.”

“He’s a mercenary.”

Mr. Dawes hesitated, then: “Right.”

“I’ve been warned.”

“I don’t know what you were told, but—”

“Listen.” Jane felt a wave of emotion pass through her, and she knew Mr. Dawes didn’t miss it when her eyes flooded with tears. I need the money. I really, really need the money for Nana and a place to live so I can figure out what to do. “You have a situation,” she said, choking a little. “I have a situation too.”

Mr. Dawes kindly looked to the side while Jane successfully reined in the tears and pulled herself back from the weird vulnerability she’d just displayed. Suddenly he said, “Here are the instructions. What questions do you have?” He produced a piece of paper with a lengthy numbered list. It was very organized. The paper was thick, a creamy off-white, and, as an artist, Jane kind of hated that it was being used for house-sitting instructions. “When you get there, call this number, and I’ll walk you through the fish-tank protocol.”

Suddenly, he hesitated. “Some of the fish have already died. They’re still there. You’ll have to—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” Jane said briskly. “Okay, so I should go there tomorrow? I should start tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Mr. Dawes handed over a key chain with three keys on it. “Door to building, door to apartment, door to downstairs mailbox. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Dawes,” she said as she took the keys.

His eyebrow raised, and a small smile crossed his face.

Jane reared back slightly. “Oh, should I call you something else?”

His smile got a little wider. “Definitely call me Mr. Dawes.”

Jane felt herself get a little hot. “Yes, sir.”

His smile apparently forgot itself and turned into a grin. “I’ll give you information for the delivery services I use. Buy whatever you need but don’t throw a party in my place, right?”

“Whatever I need? Like cleaning supplies? Or like fresh Maine lobsters?”

He actually shrugged. “Either. Whatever. Just no company. No parties.”

“I am one hundred percent not throwing a party at your place, Mr. Dawes, sir,” Jane said solemnly, enjoying the change in Nick Dawes’s expression every time she called him something fancy. “My number one job will be to make sure your fish don’t die.”

Wrong thing to say, apparently. Serious concern flickered in Mr. Dawes’s eyes. Jane quickly added, “And if you’ve been receiving regular cupcake delivery service or something, I’m not going to tell them to stop just because you’re not living there.”

He stared at her, and Jane thought she’d got him again, but then he frowned and said with some annoyance, “You were supposed to be—”

“Boring, just stupid enough, and unassuming,” Jane supplied helpfully.

He let out a snort.

“Did I just blow the interview?” Jane asked.

“I already gave you the keys,” Mr. Dawes faux grumped.

But you could take them back. Man, you’re adorable, Jane thought. I mean, you’re obviously gorgeous and rich, but you’re really worried about your fish.

The waitress appeared. “Hey. Got a to-go bag for you all ready, Nick.”

“Actually, I’m staying a little longer than I expected. Could you bring out a bottle?”

Jane raised both eyebrows. Okay, so I definitely nailed the interview.

“Red, dark fruit,” the waitress said, glancing over at Jane. “He hates Chianti.”

Noted, thought Jane. Mr. Dawes, sir, hates Chianti.

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About the Author

Liz Maverick is a bestselling and award-winning author and adventurer whose projects have taken her from driving trucks in Antarctica to working behind the scenes on reality-TV shows in Hollywood. Known for her smart, funny, and emotional romance novels with fast-paced plots, Liz has written more than fifteen books. Her bestselling book Wired was a Publishers WeeklyBook of the Year, and Liz also created the USA Today bestselling Crimson City series.

Liz currently lives happily ever after in Brooklyn, New York, with her daughter and husband, and loves to stay in touch with readers through her website, www.LizMaverick.com.

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Read an excerpt from In Between the Earth and Sky by Heidi Hutchinson

What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?

Remington Rohan was not a rule follower.

Former model (though not one of the “super” kind), successful influencer and life coach. Currently paid to tell people how to achieve the best from their lives and careers.  In other words, a complete contradiction to how he preferred to live—namely, on his own terms and without input from others.

Everything about his life was going according to plan.

Until he started spending way too much time with a woman who defied his prejudices and challenged his beliefs.

Lydia Larkin was not a genius.

Gifted, clever, and stubborn. Raised on star maps and Hendrix, she was born an explorer. Temporarily tied down to a private sector science job, she knew she was biding her time before she was off to discover and build something new.

Not one to let society tell her who she was, she wasn’t about to let a professional influencer tell her she had to change to be happy.

Buckle up and brace for impact.

Excerpt

© 2017 Heidi Hutchinson

“And as I got older, I realized whatever burned inside dad, also burned in me. I hate staying still for too long.” She cracked a half-smile. “I joke with Brenda about how my soul needs to reseed.” She narrowed an eye at Remington. “Have I told you about how I see people as plants?” He shook his head once. “Merrick is the California wild lilac, and Brenda is sweet alyssum. But I’ve never been a flower. I see myself as grass, pollinated by the wind blowing through. Just like him.” She nodded to the photo.

Remington reached for her, his fingers touching the bare skin of her arm and running down to her hand where he hooked the palm.

“Dance with me,” he said.

“Are you asking or telling?” Her lips tugged up and to the left.

“Neither,” he replied, guiding her hand to his shoulder. His left hand went to her waist and then to the small of her back as he brought her against his body. His right hand cradled her neck and jaw, the thumb brushing against her cheek.

She sucked in a soft breath that puffed lightly against his ear as he brought his face next to hers. Both of her hands rested on his biceps.

“There’s no music, Rem,” she said softly, her lips brushing his cheek as she spoke.

“Sing me a song. One you sang here before.”

He heard her swallow, felt her body begin to sway with the rhythm in her head, and sank into her calm energy.

Her voice soft on his neck, clear and sweet as she sang “You Can Close Your Eyes” by James Taylor.

And he did close his eyes. Every word sinking into his skin, blood, and guts.

They swayed together, her voice leaving him with hope and goodbyes and all the things he was both afraid of and wanted more of.

He could picture both in that moment. The child singing this song on a stage with her dad, and the woman he held in his arms.

And all he wanted was to be closer to it.

To the light and the love and the words.

“What am I?” he asked. “Of all the flowers in your world, which one am I?”

One of her hands slid from his bicep to his neck and then the back of his head, where her fingers threaded through his hair and tightened.

“Remington…” she sighed against his cheek, soft and sweet. “You’re not.”

His hands flexed against her and she held on tighter.

“You’re a star, baby,” she whispered. “Bright, burning, and beautiful.”

She hummed against his throat and repeated the chorus one more time.

Remington closed his eyes. And let her love him.

Because he couldn’t stop her anymore.

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About the Author

Heidi Hutchinson was born in South Dakota and raised the exact right distance away from the Black Hills. She had an overactive imagination very early on, and wasted no time in getting most of her friends in trouble due to her unrealistic and completely ridiculous ideas. Seeing as she was so lazy and also afraid people would think she was bonkers, she didn't write down any of the story lines that played out in her daydreams.

During her high school years, she took pen to paper and filled more notebooks than she is proud of with angsty, depressing, self-deprecating poetry. This led to her writing down more things: notes, ideas, character bios, plot twists that had no plot yet to twist. After years of cleaning up her own scraps of imagination with nothing solid to hold on to, she sat down and wrote the story that had been in her head the longest. Fueled by coffee and her unwavering and perfectly normal devotion to Dave Grohl, she discovered a writer living inside of her.

She still lives in the Midwest, though not as close to the Black Hills as she would prefer, with her alarmingly handsome husband and their fearless child. They eat more pizza than God intended and she listens to her music the same way she lives: loudly.

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