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Excerpts from "Arms"

Patricia A. Guthrie
Excerpts from novels

From Chapter one.

Chapter 1

  It was a great day to catch a killer.
Jonathan Adam Blakely pulled into the long gravel driveway of
the McGregor Ranch. The rumbling of the distant thunder was
getting closer and toward the west, the sky looked black. As
one gust of wind kicked up its swirling heels and died, another
took its place. These were welcome respites in the sweltering
heat, but even these blasts of air were too heavy with moisture.
Adam didn’t care. Another crack of thunder turned his world
into a film noir atmosphere, accentuating his morbid mood.
He rolled down the window to watch a riding lesson in the
arena and almost suffocated with a blast from the stifling heat.
The hay, horses and pine needles from the bordering forest
preserve scented the sauna. Reminders of the stables of home.
The riders tried to control their horses with one hand as they
wiped sand out of their eyes with the other. Several of them
were looking up at the massive oncoming wall cloud and
leaving the arena. All looked soaked from the steamy humidity.
A redhead passed him on a bay horse, her face shining with
beads of perspiration. She caught his eye and looked like she
was going to stop, when her horse swerved at the sound of
thunder. The woman regained control and kept on going.
  Adam kept his eyes peeled on the arena, trying to spot his
quarry. He’d never met a murderess face to face, and he
doubted she’d wear a sign around her neck stating ‘killer.’
I don’t give a damn anymore about anything except finding
Maggie McGregor.
He’d do anything to bring to justice the woman who’d
destroyed his father. And since his FBI friends couldn’t or
wouldn’t help, he’d decided to concoct a new identity--Adam
Grant, playboy entrepreneur.
He was determined to see what this she-devil might look like.
A woman was standing in the center of the arena, circled by a
few riders. Her brash voice screamed at her students to get
their animals into the barn before the storm hit.
A strong gust sent a garbage can flying across the arena, and
one of her riders lost control. The thoroughbred sidestepped
and bucked. The frightened teenager lost her balance and
pitched over the horse’s side, landing on her rear. She still
held the reins.
How had she managed that? Adam got out of his Chevy
Silverado and leaned against the rail to watch.
The redhead rode up and jumped off her horse.
He couldn’t hear the conversation, but the mini-drama
interested him. The girl was crying, apparently frightened, and
her horse snorted and pawed the ground, looking anxious to
be back in the barn.
The woman gave the girl a hug, and the girl’s face lit up,
sending a pleasant sensation through Adam. He wondered who
the woman was.
The riding instructor walked up to them frowning and shaking
her head. She said something, and the redhead held her hands
in a surrender posture, mounted and trotted back to the gate.
Adam shoved his thoughts aside as a black anvil thundercloud
blotted out the sun. The wind died down and the sky shifted to
resemble an ugly bruise he’d sported once after a fight in high
school.
From inside his horse trailer, he heard his horse’s impatient
pawing on the floor boards.
He drove down the driveway and parked his rig close to the
large sliding barn door. An older man, leather-skinned, bronzed
by the wind and sun, crouched while fiddling with something on
the side of a tractor. When Adam approached, the man handed
him a screwdriver, and asked for his help.
“See this? You just screw that sucker in until it’s tight. I’ll be
holdin’ the piece on--like this.”
Amused, Adam did what he was told, crouching down beside
him.
“Yes, yes. That’s right. Good.”
He stood up and appraised Adam. “Thanks. You our summer
help? Bit old for a high school lad, I think.”
Adam grinned and handed the old man his screwdriver. “No, I’m
Adam Grant.”
“Sorry. I was expecting a boy who wanted a summer job and
didn’t show up yesterday. I don’t know what made me expect
him today. I’m Cullum McGregor.” He brushed himself off on bib
overalls and shook hands.
A firm grip. A self-assured, kindly, tough old man who’d give a
kid a summer job. Not the kind of man who’d raise a daughter to
kill horses.
“I’ll be glad to help, if you need a hand.” Adam remembered
his role. He gave the man a shy shrug. “I haven’t been around
working farms much. I’m a city boy.”
“Mr. Grant. . . .”
“Adam.”
“What’s a city boy like you doin’ here? Little out of your
element, aren’t you, son?”
Adam smiled. “Renting an apartment and boarding my horse.”
“Ah yes. You’d be the one renting the apartment.”
“That would be me. Where should I put my horse?”
Cullum McGregor opened his mouth, but shut it again as he
looked at the sky. “Nasty bit of weather. Wouldn’t surprise me if
that one spawns a tornado.”
The sky looked like God’s fury ready to unleash itself upon an
unsuspecting mankind for their manifold sins.
“Come on, Adam. Let me show you your stall.”
Adam followed Cullum into the barn and down the aisle where
curious heads poked noses over stall doors. He stopped at an
empty space with ankle-deep bedding.
“This’ll be your horse’s stall,” Cullum said.
Adam nodded and peered inside. “What’s that on the
ground?” he asked. And, before the old man could answer
Adam asked, “And what’s that for?” Adam pointed to the grated
window on the stall door.
Cullum’s eyes narrowed at him, before he grinned. “Haven’t
been around horses much, have you?”
Adam shook his head.
“Well son, let’s start with where we keep ‘em. The horse is
kept in a stall--it’s like their bedroom. The shavin’s their
blankets and that grate on the door keeps their teeth from
nibblin’ on passersby.” Cullum slid the stall door open and
switched on the light, as Adam kicked through the sawdust.
Good quality bedding. Looking at the peeling paint on the
walls, he thought the old man’s priority lay with the comfort of
his animals and not appearances.
A loud clap of thunder crashed overhead. The stall light
flickered. He heard whinnying and looked outside the stall.
Soaked riders led their panicky horses down the aisle.
Someone yelled something from outside, but the unleashed
combination of wind and rain was so loud, he could hardly hear
anything.
“Close the barn door,” someone yelled.
The redhead he’d seen in the arena led her bay down the
aisle pointing to the outside. “There’s a horse still out back.
And...” she said, looking at Adam, “There’s a horse in a trailer
outside.”
  “Um…” Adam said, desperate to get Bluebird inside, but not
allowing himself to blow his cover. “Could someone help?”
Adam shook his head, trying not to grimace at his pretended
stupidity.
“My daughter can help you,” Cullum said. Adam looked around
for the instructor, but didn’t see her.
“Where is she?”
“Here,” the woman replied, reaching out her hand for the
formal handshake with one hand and holding onto her reins
with the other.
“My daughter, Maggie,” Cullum said. “Maggie, this is our new
boarder, Adam Grant.”
“Hi.”
Adam took her hand and stared at the woman who had the
largest aquamarine eyes and most luscious copper hair he’d
ever seen in a--murderess. This was Maggie McGregor?
                                                 ~
Maggie had left her fiancé, Ricky Lane, with bitter feelings a
little over a month ago. When she’d learned about his murder
and the death of Black Autumn, all life seemed to leave her.
She’d been going around half zombie-like, with a sense she’d
never recover. Now, her only joy was her father’s sense of
humor and her old horse, Playboy.
She hadn’t felt compelled to introduce herself to another
boarder in her father’s barn, but the fact that the stupid idiot
had left a horse in the trailer when a storm was about to hit,
forced her to speak to him.
T        here was something about the newest addition to the
McGregor barn. Something about the ruggedly handsome face
that was vaguely familiar. No. She’d never met him before but….
She wasn’t sure why she did an on-the-spot comparison. Adam
was taller than Ricky, but not by much. He didn’t have the
classical movie star looks of Ricky. Adam had an earthy,
sensual quality about him. Ricky had been fair and blond. Adam
was sun-bronzed, and his dark and tousled hair made her want
to comb it with her fingers.
Something else about him drew her attention--not physical, but
emotional. Ricky had been a confident, self-important man, who
was hard and cold when he didn’t get his way. This man looked
lost, like a tragic figure in a Greek play.
“He’ll be needing help getting his trailer into the barn,”
Cullum said. “Mags, me dear, you put Playboy away, and go
fetch the horse in the back. Adam, can you back up that trailer?”
“I’ve never tried,” Adam replied.
“Oh great, just great,” Maggie muttered.
“Oh, by the way Maggie, he’ll be rentin’ the little apartment.
You’ll need to get it ready.”
“He’ll be what?” Maggie, who’d started to move Playboy away,
stopped and turned, her face registering surprise and
annoyance.
“I’ll be renting….”
“We need to get your horse out of there,” she said, “before
the storm blows it into the next county.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Adam turned and followed Cullum out of the
stall.
How had this man managed to drive the trailer here in the first
place? She made a mental note to shoot that question at him
later.
She’d thought he’d looked like a tragic figure. She changed her
mind. Now, as she looked at him, maybe he was the one about
to inflict a tragedy on someone else. It wasn’t so much his
humorless smile, but the dark eyes--flat, hard and distant. She
felt an intrusion entering into her life, and she didn’t like it.
                                                 ~
Most of the boarders had already left, but the few that
remained were sliding open the barn doors so Cullum could
back in Adam’s rig. He just made it. The men slid the door shut
as a sheet of wind and rain followed them, and a few seconds
later the roof started crackling with pings, clicks and finally
shuddering to ‘bams.’ It sounded like someone was taking a
hammer and trying to make scrap metal. They yelled their
goodbyes and ran through the adjacent smaller door, banging
it shut as they left.
Maggie turned the news reports up on the radio, and then
started down the aisle toward the back pasture.
“The National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning
for northern Porter County in Indiana extending into Michigan.
Take immediate cover.” A beep sounded, and the message
repeated.         “The towns of.…” Maggie strained to hear, but a
close crack of thunder blocked out the names.
A terrified shriek came from the back pasture. Filled with
dread, she moved into a dead run toward the back door. A
terrified gray Arabian was rearing, bucking up and down, and
racing around in circles. Maggie tried to grab the halter of the
traumatized animal, but missed, and slipped to the ground. His
front feet came down inches from her head, and he reared
again. The wind kept her immobile, as hail pelted her face, and
steel-shod hooves hovered above her.
The horse's hooves swerved and came down on her other
side.
  Cullum was held onto the halter, calming him, backing him
away, and leading him into the barn.
Maggie scrambled to rise, hindered by sheets of violent wind
and rain. Adam grabbed her around the waist and helped her to
her feet. The wind blew them back into the barn.
“Thanks, Adam.” They struggled to pull the door closed. “I
slipped. The wind pinned me down.”
The thought that this man had the guts to take on the storm to
rescue her registered for only about two seconds before she
realized he was staring down at her. She felt heat rush to her
face.
  Her sopping tank top clung against her skin, and except for
mud splotches, was almost transparent. She looked up just in
time to see Adam avert his eyes. Momentarily, she crossed her
arms over her chest, then decided, why bother? He’d already
seen everything she had there anyway.
  I feel like a naked drowned rat.

In the Arms of the Enemy can be purchased
at:

Amazon.com
Borders online
Barnes and Noble
Authors Den
other online book sellers and available to
order at a book store near you.

ISBN 13:9780979203084

Excerpt from Waterlilies Over my Grave
From chapter one.

Chapter 1
“It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
“That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee . . .”
   Dr. Annabelle O’Brien stared at her cell phone. “I think you
have the wrong--”
“And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.”
  My God. What th--?
  The tone set the back of her hair on end. She recognized the
voice, yet she didn’t. A sing-songy, almost child-like tone had
replaced the beautiful baritone that had been Duncan’s. A horrid
taste of bile rose in her throat, her palms moistened, and the
phone slipped from one hand into the other then fell onto her
oak veneer desk with a thunk. She had a hard time picking it up
again.
  Annie’s throat turned to sandpaper, but she managed to squeak
out a “Duncan. What do you want?”
   The man on the other end cleared his throat as though he were
exercising the greatest of patience to an elementary school
student. “Do you remember, my dearest Annabelle, ‘Til death do
us part?’”
  Air lodged in her throat. She forced herself to breathe. In-out,
in-out, until her intake came in steady shallow streams, gradually
lengthening to deeper breaths. Slow. Relaxing. She was finally
able to speak. “How did you get this number?”
  The caller laughed. The laugh turned to a whisper. “Doesn’t
matter how I got your number, love. No matter where you run,
where you go, where you hide, you can not get away from me.”
  No! He couldn’t be threatening her now.
  Her usually cool nerves betrayed her as her stomach pitched
like it had plunged straight down hill doing sixty-miles an hour on
a roller coaster.
  Annie concentrated on an oil painting, the focal point of
burgundy and gray walls. Water lilies her mother had painted for
her when she was a child. It went everywhere with her. Made her
feel at home and at peace no matter how hard life should get. She
wished she could walk into that scene right now. Her eyes shifted
to the stack of client folders on her desk and back to reality.
  She forced tensing muscles to relax. “Duncan, knock it off.”
Drumming her fingers against the desk top, fear rapidly turned to
resentment. “Look, I’m no longer in New York. I’ve moved away.”
Apparently, not far enough.
  “I know exactly where you are.” His tone held a stony edge.
  Annie’s jaw stiffened. He’s fishing. “How?”
  “My dear girl. I know that you are sitting in your new office in a
hospital in upper Wisconsin.”
  Annie gasped. He knew where she was? Could see into her
office? Her gaze swept out through the large picture window and
across the parking lot. Besides a drizzly day, she didn’t see
anything out of the ordinary. No movement of cars or people.
Surreal. As quiet as a black, white and gray painting.
  Until the voice broke the silence. “Then, how could I know that
you’re wearing that gray suit with the mini-skirt that shows off
your lovely legs? How do I know that your hair is tied up in a knot
that reveals a neck as delicate as a swan?”
  A moment’s frozen silence settled upon the room, until what he’
d said registered. Then her elbow knocked into a plastic vase of
tiger lilies. The water spilled over the edge of the desk, flooding
the carpet.
  Chuckle. “Don’t you think you ought to wipe that up before it
gets all over your client’s charts?”
  Her muscles tightened and, in spite of herself, her voice shook.
“How did you know that?”
  “Lucky guess.”
  “You heard the noise through the phone.” Time for some
bravado. “Look, I’m not afraid of you.”
  Again, that chuckle. She couldn’t put a finger on the sound he
was making. Some hybrid of humor?
  “Oh, but you should be afraid my dear. Very afraid. You’ll never
be rid of me. And, you’ll never know where I am, or when I’ll turn
up. I could be behind the next corner, in the shadows, in a dark
alley.”
  “Duncan . . .”
   “Or on the banks of Lake Nager.” Another clearing of the
throat.        “Oh, and one more thing. If you try another restraining
order, there’s no law enforcement that will honor one against me.
Just try.”
  Now, Annie was getting just plain mad. “What do you mean the
law won’t arrest you for violating a court order. Who do you think
you are, God?”
  Click. Silence.
  She stared down, her brain slow to comprehend the
significance of that conversation. A long exhaled breath came in
one long quick whoosh.
  Maybe he did think he was God. But, that didn’t escape the fact
she was shaking from the top of her head to the bottom of her
soles. And it wasn’t like Duncan to try and scare her like that. He’
d given her the divorce graciously. He’d offered her anything she’
d wanted. Everyone had thought she was nuts to give him up. But
maybe he was finally starting to exhibit certain signs she’d seen
coming for years--and yet had never quite believed.
  Duncan was slowly going insane.
  She couldn’t put a diagnosis on it yet, but he needed help, and
she didn’t think he’d go get it.
  She looked at the mess on the floor. Oh bother. Look what the
idiot made me do. Giving herself something else to think about,
she picked up the vase, grabbed a handful of tissues and dried
the water that still dripped from her desk onto the gray carpet.
  Then, in a sort of fog, she closed the vertical blinds and shut
out the outside world.
  Insanity—such a broad term. And she was supposed to
understand it, help treat it. Yet here she was, a psychologist, and
didn’t feel she knew the first thing about it. She wondered if
anyone did.
  Annie was alone in a strange town where she knew nobody, and
some psycho—no, not some psycho--her psycho ex-husband had
just threatened her. But threatened her with what? Word games?
What did he want? Could he really be here in Lake Nager? Not
possible. He was in New York City attending a psychiatry
convention.
  She dwelt, only briefly, that he’d described what she wore.
Accurately.
  She forced her muscles to loosen, to relax. First day on the job.
Trying to make a good impression. The phone call from hell. What
else could go wrong?

Waterlilies Over My Grave can be purchased at:

Amazon.com
LSP Digital
Authorsden

Soon to be available at other online booksellers.
Can be ordered at a book store near you.

ISBN: 978-0-9792030--8-4

Zuri, prototype for secondary
character "Lady."

Jackson, prototype for "Bluebird."