Ah, October! The crisp autumn bite to the air, the deep blue skies, the hint of wood smoke on the wind and the glorious color of the changing leaves! As life settles into a slower pace, it's time to settle down and enjoy some down time. My latest short, Lake Taneycomo 1924, will be out later this week from Rebel Ink Press. Here's the beautiful cover with a distinct 1920's look and feel plus the blurb and a little excerpt!
When a stranger catches Genevieve Johnson's attention in the summer community of Rockaway Beach on the shores of Lake Taneycomo, she's smitten and so is he. Although he claims to be Al Brown, a furniture dealer from Chicago, she soon learns his true identity but she doesn't care. They are drawn together with irresistible force and whatever the future brings, they have the present.
Lake Taneycomo 1924
A cool breeze rippled the surface of the lake as he walked across the dance pavilion toward her, different and dangerous, a leopard among paint ponies. His raw and masculine scent was an intoxicating fragrance combining bay rum with bathtub gin. He wasn’t smiling but his grey eyes burned with living fire igniting her senses into flame.
“You wanna dance?” His voice sounded different too, rough and with an accent she’d never heard before.
“I do.” Her mouth was dry and she wondered if her speech sounded as odd to him as his to her. “I want to dance with you.”
His hands encircled her and drew her into his arms. Graceful and light on his feet for a large man, he swirled her among the dancers as if flying her to the moon. Full bellied and round, the moon cast a silver light over Rockaway Beach and painted the ordinary scene with magic. Behind the pavilion, Lake Taneycomo stretched from the beach to the wooded hillside opposite, a wide lake that resembled a fat river more than a large body of water. Created by damming the White River in 1913, the lake drew summer folk from faraway cities like flies to a sorghum spill. Although it was just May, vacationers were arriving in droves to swim, fish, and enjoy the solitude. He must be one of them because he was different and even the way he moved on the dance floor spoke of away, of the land outside the Ozark hills.
“What’s your name, beautiful?”
She found her tongue to answer. “Genevieve Johnson.”
“It’s a pretty name for a pretty lady.” His lips moved against her ear. “I’m Al Brown.”
His name was common. She’d expected something grand, an exotic name that summoned images of the stars or a foreign land. With his white Fedora slanted to one side, his tailored grey pin stripe suit and fine shoes, he must be from
Kansas City or maybe
even . St. Louis
“Are you from the City?” she asked, feeling shy and countrified.
He laughed, a low bass rumble that reminded her of their tomcat when he purred. “You might say that, doll – I’m from
?” That was where
Sears and Roebuck headquartered and the city that had burned to the ground in
the great Chicago fire started by a careless cow. “You’re all the way from Chicago ?” Chicago
“Yeah, doll face, I am.” Laughter thickened his voice.
“Is this your first time here?” Genevieve leaned into him, drawn the way moths failed to resist flame.
Putting her head against his broad shoulder felt natural and he didn’t mind because he touched his lips to the top of her head in a quick motion.
“Yeah, I never been so far out in the sticks until now. I’m really fromHis hands were soft, not calloused like those of a man who did heavy work and although he was built sturdy, he lacked muscles. Genevieve knew the look of a man who worked hard with his body and Al Brown lacked it.
though. I’ve been in Chicago for a few
years, though, and I’m in the used furniture business.” New York