Inch by inch, I am creeping closer to releasing "How to Woo a Widow"
For those who missed it on my Facebook page, here is a sneak peak at the first three pages:
If
it wasn’t so un-funny, it would be funny, Claire mused. She’d never been afraid
of much before- in her other life. Today, though, her nerves were on full alert
as she neared her destination, desperately trying to find anything amusing
about fearing Faith. She twisted the rearview mirror to reflect her face while
she tried in vain to remember a time she’d ever been scared of her big sister.
But not even the night she’d backed the car their father just gave them into
the lake could compare to this. This time Claire wasn’t sure Faith would write
her antics off so easily.
“It’s
going to take more than a smile and a joke to work my way out of this one,” she
warned her reflection. Or, rather, the thing in the mirror that stared back at
her. For surely the hollow-pitted cheeks and puffy eyes of this hag staring at
her could not be the same Claire Hamilton who customarily basked in men’s
admiring stares. She turned her attention back
to the road just in time to see a pair of chipmunks cheerfully scampering
across the pavement in front of her.
The
sound of screeching tires broke the stillness of the spring afternoon, causing
the horses in the paddocks she was now alongside to raise their heads and stare
at her in what she swore was a disapproving manner. “Bite me, Black Beauty,” she muttered. “Go
judge someone of your own kind.” Then she saw her equine jurists turn their
attention away from her, to something on the ridge.
A
horse and rider were tearing up the earth, churning chunks of new grass out behind
pounding hooves. Claire idled her rental a moment longer, taking in her first
sight of Faith since she snuck out of town six months ago. From this distance,
dashing across the farm’s high ridge, Faith may have been riding right out of a
movie scene in which her character leads a charmed life. Her auburn hair had escaped the dainty
hairclips she preferred and was streaming behind her, blending with the
matching mane of her horse as Faith leaned forward alongside her mare’s neck.
The horse galloping alongside hers moved in unison with his running mate, and
in that romantic movie would be mounted by her surgically-enhanced Adonis of a
leading man.
Perhaps
to a casual passerby it would appear to be just such a scene. But Claire knew
enough to look harder, and saw the bare back of the deep gold palomino horse.
There was no leading man leaning over the horse’s neck, urging him on. Rather,
it was Faith’s arm reaching out to pat it even as their speed increased. Claire
was always amazed at Faith’s natural skills with life in general and horses in
particular. “Freaking Faith,” she
half-laughed. “Always finds a way to work a piece of magic into even the worst
moments.”
Claire
knew her sister was in the same twisted hell she had been in since the accident
that stole both their husbands from them. The difference, thought Claire, is
that while I ran away and made an even bigger mess out of it all, Faith took
the tragedy and made it her bitch. Faith’s share of the settlement money from
the company whose driver caused the accident was being put to good use.
In
the nine months since that day Faith had started a new business as a highly
sought-after riding instructor and trainer. She’d once managed this impressive
horse farm/Bed and Breakfast just outside of the small New York town they’d
grown up in. Now she owned it. And because she was Faith, for good measure
she’d opened a satellite branch of the Equine Rescue she volunteered for.
Whereas
I, thought Claire, held on for a whole three months before I nearly smacked the
woman who was only trying to be nice to me. Closing her eyes, she could hear
the little biddy’s voice; “You’re young, you’re pretty, you’ll find someone
new.” Claire had simply pushed her grocery cart away from her and walked away
from the would-be condoler. She walked out of the store, jumped in her car, and
drove. She didn’t stop driving for hours, until she was nearly out of gas and
hundreds of miles away from home. And that had been the start of her
self-imposed six month exile.
She
hadn’t intended to stay away for so long, but then that night had happened. She
didn’t think she could every face her family again any more than she would ever
face herself after what she’d done. She traced her fingers over the still-angry
scar just under her navel, finding a sort of comfort in its presence; it would
never allow her to forget what happened, and served as a constant reminder that
she must redeem herself, somehow.
Her
reverie was interrupted by the deep blast of a horn followed by a spray of
gravel and obscenities as the driver of a pickup truck screeched around her.
She caught a brief glimpse of a finger in the air before the truck disappeared
around a turn. “Up yours!” she yelled, not caring that he was long gone or that
she was idling in the middle of the road. “Jerk” she muttered. “Must be a city
driver,” she said to herself, taking a moment to reflect on how easy it was to
forget this country town lay just eighty miles north of the Big Apple.
She
risked another glance at the paddock as she eased her car forward. No sign of
Faith anymore but the jury was back, and she flipped them off as she headed for
the driveway.
