What’s a story without romance? It’s a question I ask often. Although guys don’t like to admit it out loud, they like romantic relationships in thier stories as much as we women do. Do you ever see James Bond without a love interest? Jason Bourne? Superman? Popeye? You get my drift. Even those guy oriented comidies with sophomoric humor revolve around a romance. It connects the reader with the story. It speaks to our most primal instincts. It gives us hope for fulfilment in our own lives. Clearly, no matter what the genre, romance fits.
Recently I’ve made a bit of a leap in genres myself. PITCH BLACK is my first foray into full-fledged romantic suspense. My previous novels were women’s fiction with a mystery or suspense element. And no matter what I’m writing, the characters and their relationships are front and center. I found that a relationship in a romantic suspense is amped up by the danger involved and by the pressure the characters are under. I discovered I like this crucible for writing romantic relatioships. I like the urgency. I like the heightened senses. And I hope you’ll enjoy coming along with Gabe and Maddie as their fledgling relationship is tempered by murder and mistrust.
After you read the excerpt, I hope you’ll stop by my website: www.susancrandall.net In addition to an extended excerpt, you can download an MP3 reading of the first chapter of PITCH BLACK. And soon, you’ll be able to see the cover and read an excerpt of my next romantic suspense, SEEING RED (February ‘09).
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
It could have been the thunder. Or perhaps the gust of wind that shook the house as if it was a misbehaving child. Something had jerked Madison Wade awake with her breath locked her in her chest and her heart racing. Perhaps it had been Mrs. Quigley’s Tom cat romancing the Persian that spent her mornings on the sun porch next door. But it didn’t feel like any of those things. It felt, heavy … dark, and stifling. She hadn’t suffered from this kind of anxious awakening for months, not since she’d moved to Tennessee.
She forced herself to draw a deep breath and release it slowly. Everything was fine. Her son – she’d finally grown accustomed to thinking of Ethan as such — was far away from the dangers in Philadelphia, safe from the people and circumstances that had threatened to pull him under. Things were good.
She glanced toward the window. No rain pattered against the pane. Although the new day did not creep as softly as it usually did upon Buckeye, the approaching storm seemed respectful and subdued, as was accorded by the early hour. That was one of her father’s idyllic boyhood stories that had proven true – one of the few truths that had ever passed his lips — here the days rolled gently one into the other. They were not announced with brittle light and a blare of car horns, or the sharp banging of Dumpsters dropped noisily to the ground. Here in Buckeye people respected the quiet of early morning. The day fell gently, as if delivered by a feather drifting from an awakening sky.
She arose and looked outside. The view from most every window in this house was spectacular, contrasting in every way from the gray cityscape she had inhabited for most of her life. Even after the passage of four months, she couldn’t help but pause each morning and take in the seemingly endless reach of the verdant wilderness. The setting was the main reason she had chosen this particular house. She wanted everything in Ethan’s life to be new, untouched by the cruel bleakness of his childhood.
Clouds hung low over the rolling green mountains; the valleys and draws cradled thick blue-gray mist. Had she sent warm enough clothes with Ethan? The nights could be chilly up there, even though it was only September.
She shook her head. When had she turned into such a sap? Ethan would really let her have it if he knew. That was part of what made the two of them work — love and honesty without the pretty bows and wrapping paper. It was a deal they’d struck early on; no bullshit.
Besides, her stewing was ridiculous. When she’d first taken Ethan in as a foster child at thirteen, he had spent more nights sleeping in the elements than any child should. He’d reminded her before he’d left – when he’d caught her surreptitiously checking his supplies, looking at the tag for the weather rating of his sleeping bag and throwing in extra batteries for his flashlight – he was fifteen now. Which he said translated into something like twenty in regular suburban-kid-years. “Besides,” he’d said, “It’s a whole lot safer sleeping on a mountain with a few bears than it had been sleeping on the streets in Philadelphia.”
She’d looked into his wide blue eyes and nearly cried. Crying … now that would have sent him into orbit.
Luckily, these days his past was just a distant echo that she occasionally saw in the depths of his eyes. He was safe and loved; her responsibility … her son. The adoption had been finalized the week before they’d moved to Buckeye.
Thunder rumbled again in the distance. She hoped the boys made it back down the mountain before the rain hit. With the threatening weather, surely Mr. McPherson would pack up and head back early.
Jordan Gray’s stepfather took groups of boys camping once a month. The first two times Ethan had been invited, she’d managed an excuse – although she couldn’t say why she’d been so reluctant to let him go. This time he’d called her on it. Honesty … without the pretty packaging. He went.
She should have been happy that Ethan, a newcomer, had been asked. It was a great opportunity for him to bond with other boys of his own age. Of course, those were logical arguments, not the illogical fears of a mother who wasn’t truly comfortable with her new role as such. She attributed her heightened worry to her vast and intimate knowledge of how dangerous this world could be; up until a few months ago, she’d made her living writing about missing children, gang violence, and internet predators.
Madison turned from the window and chafed her hands over her chilly arms. She’d lived alone throughout her adulthood, preferring a solitary life, relying on the only person she knew she could count on – herself. Dedication to her work had filled her days; she’d never felt lonely. But now, as she stood in her bedroom listening to the wind, she suddenly realized how starkly empty the house felt without Ethan.
Get a grip. He’s only been gone since yesterday morning. She’d always thrived on independence and respected it in others. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she’d be inclined to stew and worry while her child was off living his life. What had she known?
Certainly not how quickly a person became used to hearing overgrown feet thudding on the floor overhead; or how not finding a dirty cereal bowl in the sink seemed to make a person’s chest feel hollow.
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was glad she’d agreed to have breakfast with Gabe Wyatt this morning. It wasn’t a date; she didn’t date. Not now that she was the working mother of a teenage son. Both her and Ethan’s lives had been upturned enough without adding the complication of a new romance.
But Gabe’s friendship was becoming difficult to keep at that casual level. He’d subtly insinuated himself into her life; often serving as a sounding board concerning adolescent male behavior (being an only child, her only first-hand experience with the teenage male before Ethan had been her own pubescent dating). Gabe had also done his best to help her learn which toes were the most delicate in this new small town. Since she was editor of the local daily paper, more often than not those lessons went unheeded. They were appreciated nonetheless.
Up until yesterday, she’d managed to resist his repeated invitations to dinner and movies – no easy feat. From the very first time she’d heard him speak, his smooth southern voice had a nearly hypnotic effect on her Yankee heart. She now understood the power of those called “whisperers” — people who could calm animals with only their voices. It was certain, Gabe Wyatt’s voice called to something primal deep inside her. She had no business getting involved. But he kept asking in that voice….
When the invitation had been breakfast, she’d justified that breakfast was different. Colleagues and friends met for breakfast. Breakfast was innocent, noncommittal. Breakfast wasn’t a date.
She glanced at the clock. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late.
At seven-thirty she turned onto High Street. With a gust of wind, the first fat drops of rain hit her windshield. Gabe’s Jeep Cherokee with “sheriff” printed plainly on the sides and back gate was parked at the curb in front of the Smoky Ridge Café. She parked next to it.
She felt more relaxed just seeing he was here.
Relaxed. Relaxed — not bubbling with joy.
She tamped down that ripple of pure pleasure and wondered when she had started lying to herself — something as foreign to her as these hills had been on her first day here. She’d always been as pragmatic in her personal relationships as she was in her work. She wasn’t sure what to think of this new aspect of herself.
She stopped asking questions she didn’t really want to answer and hopped out of the car. The second she closed the door, the clouds cut loose. Holding her purse over her head, she made a dash for the café.
The door swung open just as she reached it. Gabe held the door and hurried her inside. For a long moment, he just stood there grinning at her.
“What?” she asked. “Never seen a drowned rat before?”
“Mermaid.” The warmth of his voice poured over her, banishing the chill. “I was thinking you look like a mermaid.”
“You Southern boys, always let your good manners get ahead of your good sense,” she said, breaking eye contact.
“You Yankee women, never can gracefully accept innocent Southern flattery.”
She looked up at him with a half-grin. “Thanks.”
“For the compliment?” he asked. “Or for calling you on your Yankee ways?”
“Oh,” she feigned a surprised look, “I thought they were both compliments.”
He rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”
“You started it.” She walked toward an empty booth, her heart fluttering in a most unpragmatic way.
Gabe slid into the booth beside her and picked up a menu.
She gave him a sideways look and cleared her throat.
“Yes?” He turned innocent green eyes her way.
“Are we expecting someone else?”
“Not that I know of.”
She pointed across the table. “Then get your ass over on the other side of the booth before people start talking.”
With a heavy sigh, he moved.
Madison looked around the crowded café and saw knowing grins, raised eyebrows, and a few lips pursed in disapproval. The damage had already been done.
She leaned across the table and said in a hushed voice, “Everyone thinks we spent the night together.”
Gabe glanced around, then grinned at her and whispered back, “Of course they don’t. What man in his right mind would be out of your bed at this early hour on a Sunday morning?”
Titling her head, trying to appear sweet and Southern, she drawled, “Why Gabriel Wyatt, I declare, I should slap your face for such a shamefully inappropriate remark.”
He gave her a wink. “Now that’s how to take a compliment.”
Madison made a point of not lingering over coffee after breakfast. Lingering was too date-like.
“I really need to get home. Ethan will be back from camping,” she said, wiping her lips with a paper napkin. Now she was lying to other people as well as herself; Ethan wasn’t due home until around noon. But she couldn’t stay here listening to Gabe’s voice and looking into his moss-green eyes any longer. Not when her own mind had begun to follow the pattern of the other patrons; several times now she’d caught herself wondering what it would be like to spend the night in Gabe Wyatt’s bed.
She reached for the check; the cash register was by the front door and Gabe paying was one step closer to this being a date.
Gabe put his hand firmly on top of hers. “Apparently you still have a lot to learn about living in the South.”
She liked the way his calloused palm felt against the back of her hand – too much.
“All right then.” She pulled her hand from beneath his. “I’ll just use my money to buy myself something frilly that smells of gardenias.”
He laughed. “Now you’re talkin’.”
With a dramatic huff, she got out of the booth.
He was still chuckling as he followed her to the front.
He paid, then she thanked him, painfully aware of dozens of eyes on them.
“My pleasure. How about dinner Saturday?”
His gaze held hers as his voice worked its magic. “I … I–”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He opened the door and pushed her out into the rain before she could say anything else.
Tags: Excerpts, News // 2 Comments »
