Kathryn Meyer Griffith's Page

EXCERPT FROM THE ICE BRIDGE from THE WILD ROSE PRESS:
After all she’d been engaged to Lucas for five years. And to break up with her in an e-mail? The least he could have done was telephone and tell her in his own voice. Well, it was over.
She fought back tears as her thoughts touched on her doomed wedding, her eyes hurting and her hands clenching on the ferry’s rail until her knuckles were white.
She shook her head, mumbling in a low voice. He’d taken a chunk of her life, a lot for a man to steal from a young woman. Oh, she hated him. Hanging would be too good for him. Electrocution would be too good. She wished she could –
“Miss, are you all right?”
She turned her head and met the eyes of a tall man standing behind her on the boat. The angry tears in her eyes kept her from seeing him clearly. Young, she registered, and though not excitingly handsome, his face was kind.
She glanced around and realized she’d been so preoccupied with her sorrow and dreams of revenge that she’d been leaning over the railing. Her cheeks were wet with tears she didn’t recall shedding. He probably thought she was going to jump or something.
No man was worth that. Not even Lucas.
But she would have liked to throw her ex-fiancé over the railing, though, and into the chilly waters below. Him and Rachel. She almost smiled at the thought of the two thrashing around in Lake Huron like abandoned baby dodos, the ferryboat chugging away as she waved goodbye to both of them.
She’d teach them to hurt other people. To hurt her.
“I’m…fine,” she sighed, composing herself, and faced the stranger. No doubt she’d had that murderous look on her face before, the one her mother warned her would scare off Santa Claus. “Just had some unpleasant thoughts on my mind, that’s all.”
She wiped her eyes and looked at the man again. He was around her age, somewhere under thirty, had brown hair that the lake spray had ruffled into unruliness and brilliant sky eyes that smiled when his lips did, as they were doing now. He wasn’t as handsome as Lucas, but attractive in a healthy puppyish kind of way. He looked sure of himself and casual in his lemon yellow shirt and faded jeans. ***
*****************************************************************************************************
APPROX 1,000 WORD EXCERPT from WINTER'S JOURNEY out from THE WILD ROSE PRESS in e-book and paperback:
Chapter 7
Loretta had never seen such a strong storm so early
in the season. The roads and tree limbs were ice coated,
though the falling snow wasn’t accumulating. The storm
was all wind and fury. She could see the limbs shaking
around her, dropping chunks of ice onto the road.
She’d stopped a couple miles back at a truck stop and
had tire chains put on the rear wheels. That kept her out
of the steep ditches on both sides of the highway, yet
didn’t help when the blowing snow got so thick she
couldn’t see through the windshield.
“Damn.” She finally surrendered, edged Baby Blue
onto the shoulder of the road, and cut the engine. But it
wasn’t just the snow that clouded her sight it was her
tears. She’d fought them for a while but now let them flow
freely.
How could you have left Sam like that? How could
you have turned him into the police before you’d even given
him a chance to defend himself and tell his side of the
story? You coward. He trusted you.
Her hands clung to the steering wheel and she hung
her head and let the tears come, burning her eyes. She
imagined Sam slumped in a dank cell, sorrowful and
shivering in that flimsy jacket.
What made it unbearable was not only the way her
heart and conscience condemned her but the betrayal of
her own body. It ached for Sam. Her ears wanted to hear
his voice, and her eyes wanted to see his smile. Her arms
wanted to wrap around him, and her hands wanted to be
safe in his hands. Her lips wanted to kiss his. She felt so
utterly alone, bereft, and she couldn’t stop the pain that
abandoning Sam had given her. She knew now, after only
two days, she’d begun to fall in love with him.
Should she go back and help him? She was eleven
hours away—further if the foul weather held or
escalated—from her destination, from saving her truck
and her livelihood, so how could she? She peered through
the frosted windshield into the blowing whiteness. It was
night, but the snow had turned the darkness into an eerie
twilight. With this storm, she might never get to
Cheyenne on time or safely anyway.
The truck swayed and the wind howled outside. She
needed to stay on the road but she’d seen too many
accidents in this kind of weather. It was foolhardy to keep
driving. She was better off parking the truck somewhere
and waiting it out or sleeping her eight hours—if she
could sleep—because she was running illegally. She
couldn’t stop thinking about Sam. What harm would it do
to return and wait out the storm…with him? Looking at
him through the jailhouse bars? Maybe being detained
herself by the cops?
She didn’t know what to do.
Even if she forged ahead, she could at least rest an
hour or two in hopes that the storm would abate. She was
so tired. The snow might taper off and the wind might die
down some. The tears might stop and allow her to see
again. The warmth of the truck’s cab surrounded and
lulled her as it protected her from the inhospitable
weather on the other side. She thought about Sam.
Just hours ago he was sleeping in the back. And
except for the peculiar incident with that other truck,
she’d been happy for the first time since her husband’s
death. She could always go back and see what happened
to Sam after she delivered her load. She could offer to
stand by him no matter what until she found out if he was
guilty or not.
The police couldn’t charge him with anything until
they had time to investigate and gather more information.
They needed proof, right? The bad weather would
complicate things, too. There was time. Yeah, sure, who
was she fooling?
She really didn’t know Sam all that well, did she?
Loretta shut her heavy eyes and listened to the wind.
She must have drifted to sleep because suddenly Sam was
there sitting next to her telling some silly joke and she
was laughing.
He pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay, Loretta.
Everything’s going to be all right now, you’ll see.” His lips
came down on hers and taunted her with their sweetness.
She wondered why he was not in jail but was too
happy to question it. Sam held her close and she felt
beautiful. “Oh, Sam, you’re really here. I can’t believe it. I
thought I’d never see you again. I thought you’d hate me.”
“I could never hate you, my love,” dream Sam said.
“You did what you thought was right. You were afraid
and I don’t blame you. A woman alone has to be careful.
There are lots of evil people out there.”
“But—” she started to protest, and Sam shushed her
gently by laying his lips on hers again. And all she could
do was give in and go mute.
Then Sam led her to the sleeper and they made love.
Nothing else mattered. She didn’t care if he were a
murderer, how he’d gotten away from the police, or how
he’d found her in the middle of a snowstorm. It was as if
time was suspended and they were in another world
where they only existed to be with each other.
Loretta forgot everything else. Sam told her he loved
her and she told him she loved him. Afterwards, she tried
to recall what had been so important that she’d wanted to
talk to him about, but she couldn’t. Her thoughts were out
of focus and she felt unreal. Sam’s face in the
semidarkness was so softened and indistinct he could
have been a ghost. His face, his touch, and his words
began to fade. No!
And then Loretta remembered what she’d wanted to
ask him. “Sam, are you a murderer?” she breathed,
shocked at her bluntness. She sat up and tried to capture
his dissolving form through the eddying mist that seemed
to be everywhere. “Did you kill those people?”
“What do you think, Loretta…am I a killer?” He
brushed her face with hazy fingers.
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “I’m asking you.
Did you kill those three truckers?”
Despair replaced her happiness before he vanished,
whispering, “It doesn’t make any difference now, for
you’re the one in danger. So be vigilant. Protect yourself.”
She woke up and lifted her head from the steering
wheel. Outside, the storm had gone into high ferocity and
the wind screamed like a snow banshee. If only the snow
would thin out and the layers of ice beneath it weren’t so
treacherous she could go on her way. The clock on the
dash showed an hour had passed. That was one hour of
sleep out of eight down, seven more to go. Only an hour
and all of it had been a dream. She could have wept
because she still felt Sam’s lips on hers. She touched a
finger to her mouth. Where was he now?
You’re the one in danger, he’d warned her in the
dream. She wasn’t in danger now, was she? Yet she was
aware, as she’d been for a while, that something was
wrong on this trip. Her rig breaking down the first day,
the missing spare parts, the weird Freightliner that tried
to force her off the highway, Sam, and now those terrible
murders…it all had to have some connection. It was as if
her journey were cursed.
Stop thinking about Sam, she scolded herself. He’s
gone. It’s over. Move on.
She grabbed the thermos of coffee left over from that
morning and poured a cup. It slid down her throat leaving
a cool, sugary taste and revived her. She rummaged
around until she found the remnants of the goodie bag
she’d brought along…it seemed like years ago now but
was only two days ago. Lucky her. Sam had left her an
apple, an orange, and two Milky Ways, which was better
than nothing. She’d never eaten supper that night; she’d
run away instead. She ate the apple and a candy bar,
drank the rest of the coffee, and hoped the caffeine would
keep her from falling asleep at the wheel.
She suspected, on top of everything else, that she was
lost. She’d been on a set course, but between the
snowstorm, her state of mind, and the unexpectedly
closed main roads, she’d somehow gotten off track. She
switched on the dash light, unfolded the state map, and
attempted to pinpoint her location. Somewhere around
Shawnee. She couldn’t see any road signs from where she
was, the snow and ice had covered everything.
Outside, the wind abruptly died down and the snow
slowed. This was her chance. She took the truck out onto
the road hoping to find a gas station or a truck stop to
find out her present location. ***
******************************************************************************************
EXCERPT FROM EGYPTIAN HEART from THE WILD ROSE PRESS out in e-book and paperback:
Remembering Nefrure’s warning, I dropped my head
and tried to take in the sights and people without
actually meeting anyone else’s eyes. Hard to do because
there were men calling out to me, hooting and hollering,
urging me to stop by their tables and talk to them.
Ahhotpe led me to Ramose and then left. I looked up
to meet the inquisitive eyes of a man dressed in a shirt of
gold and a white kilt, an ornate linen headdress and, as
most of the people around us, heavy eye make-up. So
much jewelry, he shone like the sun. He looked so
different than the first time I’d seen him, I had to search
his face to be sure it was the same man who’d rescued me
from the soldier’s whip. I wasn’t, until he gave me that
arrogant smile of his and spoke to me. Then I knew it
was him.
“So the woman from the strange land cleans up well
indeed. Have you been treated properly since first we
met?”
This was going to be tricky. The room had hushed
and everyone was watching Ramose and I. I felt like an
actor in a play who didn’t know their lines. Or the play.
“Yes, my lord, I have been.”
“I can see that you have. You look much better than
the last time I saw you.” His voice was husky. “Come sit
by me and tell me more of your story and your home.
How you came to be out wandering in the desert.”
For a moment, I questioned if I was Ramose’s slave
or his guest. His manner towards me was friendly and
courteous. Who was this man and why did he affect me
the way he did? Whenever his eyes fell on me I couldn’t
take mine away. He mesmerized me. He said one thing,
but I swore he was thinking, meaning, something else
entirely.
I sat down on his left after room was made for me
and that’s when I noticed the woman on his right. She
had caramel hued skin, high cheekbones accenting huge
eyes that appeared to be some shade of blue, not the
usual brown, and an ebony wig seeded with strands of
gold and pearls. Her eyes were kohl ringed, her lips pouty
and bright crimson, her face perfectly shaped. Her body,
in her clinging blue silken gown, with full breasts and
hips, was absolutely perfect. She was small compared to
me. She couldn’t have been over four foot eight or so. She
was so beautiful. Next to her, I must look like a tall, pale
ghost.
But there was something in the eyes…a hard
cunningness that reminded me of a cobra. And there was
an air of possessiveness when she looked at Ramose that
told me she had to be Makere, his current concubine.
Nefrure had spoken of her. Said she was sadistic to her
servants and slaves. She thrashed them for the slightest
misstep and sliced up their faces to mar them for life. If a
slave was too pretty or caught Ramose’s eye, she’d scar
them, make them ugly, so he’d never look at them again.
Makere was watching intently, and it made me
uncomfortable.
There were other women around us and they were
all eavesdropping as well. I was the center of attention
because Ramose was speaking with me.
“I was right…you were a rare jewel hiding beneath
that layer of sand and dirt,” he said. “The clean gown and
trinkets do you much more justice than the shapeless
nightclothes you had on when I first saw you.”
I ignored the compliments and the interest in his
eyes. Ramose was used to complaisant females falling
over him, so I had to guard how I talked to him. Guard
what I said. I could never forget where I was and when. I
had to entertain him and teach him at the same time.
Teach him that I was different.
“Thank you for sending me the clothes and the
jewelry.” I touched the cloth of my gown. “It is not me.
The look, I mean. I feel…overdressed. Like a kewpie
doll.” It’d slipped out before I realized I’d made a blunder.
Already. So much for being guarded…
“Kewpie doll?” There was bewilderment in his voice
as he repeated the words.
I guessed I had to explain it. “Where I come from a
kewpie doll is a prettily dressed up child’s toy. But thank
you for sending me these garments and for helping me
that day.”
“You are welcome.” His hand reached out and his
strong fingers touched my hair. Then he leaned over and
took my face into his hands. “I am a direct man. When I
see something I desire, I take it. You can pay me back
by…coming to my bed tonight.” He was looking at me,
but he still wasn’t seeing me.
“My lord, I appreciate what you have done for me,” I
mouthed softly so he alone could hear, “but I would prefer
not to. In my land, a woman has a choice of these things.
And as I said before…I am not a slave, but a free woman.
I will decide who I bed.”
Ramose seemed startled by my answer, he pulled
back and seemed to genuinely see me for the first time.
“What strange ideas you have. Do all women behave as
you where you come from?”
“Yes.”
“And the men allow it?” I could tell he was a little
irritated but intrigued with me.
“Yes.” I met his eyes and I caught the growing
interest in their depths.
I also caught Makere glowering at me from behind
Ramose.
“I was told you do not recall much of you life before
being found on the desert.”
I liked the way he said found.
“That is true. I do not.” I didn’t like lying but there
was no way I could sit there and tell this man that I was
from the future. No way I could tell him who I really was.
“Then how do you know you were not a slave in your
old life? How do you know what your life was like?”
Ramose picked up a piece of meat from his plate and
handed it to me. Looked like chicken.
“I remember some things,” I replied, nibbling on the
meat. A slave slid up next to me and brought me a plate
of my own food. I was hungry so I ate. It wasn’t easy with
Ramose studying me. Half the room watching me. I didn’t
dare look at Makere again.
“You remember you are a professor at a…Boston
University…and you are an American. Yet you do not
remember how you got here?” Ramose’s glance was
sharp. He’d remembered most of what I’d said the first
time he’d met me. I almost choked. I could have kicked
myself for being so stupid and blurting all that stuff out
that morning. But then that had been before I’d accepted
I was truly back in the past.
I turned and forced myself to smile. “Yes, I am a
teacher…from America. And no, I do not remember how I
got here.”
A mouth of white teeth flashed at me. “I have never
heard of this land…America.”
“It is a far distant land. Over the waters.” It was all
I could think of at the moment.
“And you are an educated woman. You can read and
write?”
“Yes,” hesitantly. Good thing I could read and write,
somewhat, ancient Egyptian.
“You are a respected woman in your land?”
“I am.”
“You want to go back?”
He had me there. I did want to go back but I wasn’t
sure how. Wasn’t sure I ever could. “If I could…but I do
not remember enough to do that…at this time. I would
not know where to go or to whom.” I tried to look sad.
Lost. It wasn’t hard.
“So you are my guest for a while, living on my
hospitality?”
I understood what he was getting at but annoyance
flared up before I could stop it. It was my turn to lean
over and say in a whisper to him, “I am and I am
grateful. But that does not mean I have to pay you back
by ending up in your bed tonight. Or any other night, for
that matter…my lord.”
Ramose laughed. “You have spirit, I will say that.”
His hand briefly caressed the side of my face, then pulled
back. “Do you remember what they called you in this far
distant land?”
I thought he was mocking me but replied sweetly
anyway. “They called me Maggie.”
He nodded. “Mag-gie. A pretty name.
“I am Ramose Nakh-Min. I own all this.” He swept
his hand around in a broad circle. “Everything and
everyone.” His meaning was clear.
Not me, I wanted to say, but held my tongue. Instead
I gave him a begrudging smile. The beads in my hair
tinkled and reminded me I was an Egyptian princess.
“Do you know you have the greenest eyes I have ever
seen? Cat’s eyes.
“And your hair,” he murmured, twining his fingers
in the strands, “is like soft moonlight. Your skin as pale
as ivory. I have never beheld a woman like you.”
There was something so charismatic about him that
I had trouble remembering why I had to not obey him. He
was so handsome, yet his face was the face of a dark
angel you did not cross. Sharply contoured with a strong
jaw, a nose arched and well formed, and the most
beautiful dark eyes I’d ever seen, gleaming with wit and
intelligence. His arms were muscled and his chest was
broad and flat. His speech clear and educated.
He was handsome, virile, attractive to women, and
he knew it.
I’d never met a man like him in my whole life.
Maybe it was the power.
There was music now in the center of the room and
with all the people the noise level rose. I could barely
hear what Ramose was saying. Then dancers—halfnaked
women in transparent gowns—glided out and
started prancing around in front of Ramose, trying to get
his attention. He enjoyed the entertainment and I
clandestinely observed the people around us.
Sitting there with Ramose, Makere and all the
celebrating Egyptians, was for me, a scene right out of a
dream. It felt unreal. Dancing bejeweled women, singers,
musicians and drunken revelers. Tables packed with
exotic food and golden goblets of wine and beer. Drunken
soldiers ogling me, and envious women gossiping about
me.
What would my stuffy colleagues back at the
University say if they could see me now? Dressed like
this in this setting? The thought almost made me laugh,
but I kept it to myself. I wished that I had my drawing
materials because I would have loved to sketch the
gyrating dancers and the peacock guests. What a picture
it would have made. Or I wished I had a camera. What
would these people think of a digital or a video camera, I
wondered.
Yeah, what I wanted was a snapshot of Makere.
If looks could kill. I’d never understood that phrase
fully until I caught Makere’s spiteful eyes on me. I had
made an enemy and she wanted me to know it. Even
though after his first interest in me, Ramose had cooled it
and given his favorite most of his attention. Trying to
make me jealous, I imagine.
Then again, Ramose wasn’t stupid, maybe he was
aware that he was making her jealous and was playing it
smart. I was relieved. I didn’t need Makere as an enemy.
But what was Ramose up to and why was I still here at
his feast if I’d turned him down?
To show me what I was missing, no doubt. To show
me who was boss. I couldn’t leave until he gave me
permission.
At times I would catch Ramose stealing looks at me,
or he would say something in my ear or his hand would
brush my skin. There was a physical attraction between
the two of us that even I couldn’t deny. It was as if I’d
been sleeping all my life and was now waking. I had this
bizarre urge to throw my arms around him and press my
lips to his. Merge up against him. I wanted him to touch
me, hold me. Cherish me. It was the strangest thing.
And I fought it. There was no way I was going to
start behaving like a loose woman on a first date. I had to
remind myself who I was. Maggie Owen, college professor
and liberated woman. I couldn’t forget that I didn’t
belong here. My fingers grasped the amulet. It could send
me back at any time. I couldn’t get involved with anyone
here. Not anyone.
But I’d never felt this way about a man and it
unsettled me. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong man.
Makere’s man.
As if thinking of her made Makere act up, the other
woman started a conversation with me. “So…lost woman
from another land…what else can you do besides read
and scribble…can you sing or dance? Here, all Egyptian
girls are taught to sing and dance when they are
children.”
“No, I cannot do either.” I could just imagine what
Makere would say if I got up and did one of our modern
American dances or sang one of the Bee Gees tunes. And
watching the Egyptian dancers slithering around the
floor, I knew there was no way I could do their dances
any justice. I was not graceful enough. Not uninhibited
enough or nearly naked enough.
“You cannot dance?” Her voice sarcastic. “Oh, you
are being too modest. Every woman can dance.
“So…dance for us!” she commanded me.
I glanced at Ramose and he shrugged. This is
between Makere and you, it seemed to say.
“No.” I didn’t know if there was a title I should be
using for her. What did you call a lord’s concubine? I
didn’t know. But I could tell she, having a short fuse, was
getting angry.
“How dare you defy me.” Makere stood up. “Dance!”
Her pretty face turned ugly with her rage. This was a
woman, I thought, who was used to getting her way all
the time. She slapped her hand on the table. “Dance!”
“No, thank you very much, I prefer not to.”
Ramose’s face was granite. I was on my own. I
looked away, heart pounding, remembering what Nefrure
had said about Makere’s cruelty.
I had the feeling Ramose was waiting to see who had
the strongest will. Makere or me.
Makere turned to Ramose and gave him her
sweetest smile. “My love, make the new girl dance.” She
leaned her face up close next to his and ran her fingers
along his neck. “Make her dance for us.”
“Make her dance! Make her dance!” Other voices
picked up the chant and soon half the room was
demanding that I make a fool of myself. I was
outnumbered and on the spot. When I was trying so hard
to stay under the radar. But there was no way I was
going to parade around in front of the whole hall shaking
my booty. That was asking for trouble. Might as well
stick a price tag on my butt.
Ramose did something out of character then. In front
of Makere, he took my hand and said softly, “If I ask you
to dance for us, would you?”
There was something in his voice that told me I had
the right to choose and I did. “I beg your pardon, but no,
my lord. As I said I do not know how to dance. Better it is
left to the ones who are good at it.” And at the last second
I decided to appeal directly to him. “Please, do not make
me dance…please?”
“Then so be it. You do not have to dance.”
I was so relieved, it almost didn’t matter that
Makere was furious. I guess she wasn’t used to being
challenged, but I didn’t dare look at her again. She’d turn
me to stone for sure.