Ah, January. Out with the old, and in with the new. The time of year when resolutions are fresh on our minds, and gym memberships are on the rise. Here in Indiana, it’s also usually a time to dig out from under the snow (which is great, because you get a clean driveway AND can burn off a few of those Christmas cookie calories, too).
Whether this New Year finds you in snow or heat, may 2014 bring you joy and good cheer. And what better place to find that than in a great book? So sit back, relax, and enjoy this excerpt from my romantic suspense, ARMED WITH STEELE–where heartache can turn to humor, and “never again” just might lead to “happily ever after”.
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When I reached the kitchen, my mother had her hand under the running water, waiting for it to warm. I set my dishes on the counter and braced myself for the pending onslaught of questions and guilt-tripping.
“I worry about you, sweetheart. Being so far away and living downtown by yourself.” She cast a probing glance my way, then reached for the dish soap.
I avoided her gaze. Focused instead on a black plastic measuring cup bobbing in the rising water, helpless. Oh, how I could relate.
“I hardly live downtown, Mom.” I reached down and rescued the cup, wishing someone could do the same for me. Then I scrubbed it, rinsed, and handed it to my mother.
She reached for a towel. “Close enough. And the crime rates in that big city!”
I rolled my eyes. Fort Wayne, Indiana could hardly be called a big city. Around these parts, that designation was reserved for places like Indianapolis, Chicago, and Detroit.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me. I read the paper. I know that crime is up down there.”
I handed my mother–aka Joe Friday’s little sister–another clean dish. “But I live in a good neighborhood, Mom. It’s not like we’re plagued with drive-by shootings or anything. Heck, the worst crime I’ve heard about anywhere near us was when the little old lady who lives across the street backed into her neighbor’s mailbox.”
“Thieves watch people come and go from their homes, Jessica. They’ve probably already noticed that Grace isn’t coming home with you anymore. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were watching your place right now.”
“Oh, well in that case I sure as heck can’t move back home until Grace wakes up. If I did, they’d rob us blind before I’d even made it up to Angola!”
“Don’t use that tone with me, young lady.”
I sighed and added more dirty dishes to my sink full of soapy water. If only there was a way to keep her from worrying. Something foolproof.
Or better yet, bulletproof.
“Look, you don’t have to worry about me so much, Mom. I’m not always alone. I’m seeing someone now.” Though an outrageous lie, I couldn’t help but smile at how perfect it was. “I just didn’t want to say anything before because”¦well, it’s still early.” The lies were coming faster now. Easier.
And the twenty-questions will commence”¦now.
“You are? When did this happen? Who is he? Where did you meet? Wait.” She turned to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I thought you were still hung up on Dan?”
Leave it to my mother to say the one name capable of puncturing a hole in my temporarily swollen ego. I stepped away from her touch to reach for a plate on the counter. “Hard to be hung up on someone when they’re several hours away.”
His decision to move to Nebraska had put a strain on our relationship. My not wanting to move out there with him had killed it.
“Not if you’re in love.”
I took my frustration out on an unsuspecting casserole dish. “Well, then I guess I wasn’t.”
“I’m rather glad, to be honest.”
I stopped in mid-scrub. “What?”
“Well, he was kind of”¦boring. Your father and I worried how our grandkids might turn out.” She flashed me a sheepish grin.
“Mom!”
She shrugged. “Honestly, Jessica. I don’t understand your taste in men.”
That makes two of us. I went back to scrubbing, cheeks on fire. But I’d found comfort in her admission, as if it somehow helped validate my decision to stay. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you almost seemed happy with this one.”
I stopped trying to scrub the floral pattern off her casserole dish.
Almost.
She knew me too well.
“And besides,” she said, opening a cupboard overhead to put the dish she’d just dried away, “he was a hundred times better than that Neil guy.”
I couldn’t argue with her there. Neil had been a longhaired, tattoo-covered, impromptu blind date lined up by Grace right after graduation. He and Grace’s date played in a local heavy-metal band. She’d seen the light with her lackluster date within a week. It took me a few more months to get the wake up call. Literally. He’d called early one morning, in between a gig and his day-job at Burger Heaven, giving me the “it’s not you, it’s me” spiel. For once in my life, I was actually relieved to hear those words.
“So,” my mother said, interrupting my flashback, “tell me about this new guy.”
Bulging biceps, brilliant blue eyes, thick, dark hair. “There’s not much to tell, really.” I handed her the sparkling clean casserole dish. “No one you know. Met him last week. Lives nearby.”
“Mmm, hmm. And what does he do?”
“He’s a cop.” The story rolled effortlessly off my tongue. I pictured Jiminy Cricket on my opposite shoulder, telling me I was surely going to hell.
“A police officer?” She stopped drying and stared at me. Searched my face for any hint of bullshit. But I had my game face on today. The same one I’d perfected in high school under this very roof. “Name?”
“Officer Steele.”
“That’s what you call him when you go out,” she said flatly. “Officer Steele.”
“No,” I said, scrambling to remember his first name. Damn, what was it? It’d been on his business card. Thankfully, it popped into my head a second later. “I call him Nathan. But to everyone else, he’s Officer Steele.”
“Nathan,” she said, trying it out for herself. “Sounds like a wholesome young man. He is young, isn’t he?”
“Yes, Mom.” I chuckled. “It’s not like I hooked up with some crusty old, donut-loving cop or anything. I think he’s around my age.”
Her left eyebrow hiked up a notch. “You don’t know?”
“Mother!” I feigned shock. “Why is it that men aren’t supposed to ask women their ages, but you think it’s okay for me to ask him about his?”
“You really don’t know?”
“Nope. Does that bother you?” I handed her a clean dinner plate and worked to suppress a smirk.
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, it does. I don’t want my young, innocent, little–“
“Okay, stop.” I reached for a nearby towel and turned to face her. “I’m not some clueless teenager anymore, Mom. I run my own business, pay my own rent.”
I found strength in those words–a strength that had abandoned me this past week.
“And if I can do all of that, then I ought to be capable of selecting a decent guy to date.”
A medley of looks crossed my mother’s face–surprise, then indignation, and finally defeat. “You’re right, dear. But I’ll always worry about you. It’s what mothers do.”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze.
“I’m not asking you to stop caring, Mom,” I said, my voice softer now as I drew back and met her watery gaze with my own. “I’m just asking you to trust me.”
Even as I stand here, lying through my teeth about an imaginary boyfriend, I thought with a twinge of guilt.
She placed a hand on my cheek. “Alright, dear. I’ll try.”
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If you enjoyed the excerpt, please comment below and share with your friends! I’ll be giving a copy of ARMED WITH STEELE away to one lucky commenter!
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