Fiery Bride

by Cynthia Woolf

  “I’m not. Sally’s going to keep this office open. I’ll open one in Golden after the baby gets a little older and, in the mean time, I’ll work out of your office. It’ll work like it did before I left.”

  He didn’t say anything for a while just rubbed his hand up and down her arm. Then he tightened his hold on her. “I’m sorry you had to leave to get me to realize I love you. I’ve never been as miserable in my life as I have been these last six months.”

  “I needed to know that you knew you loved me. It wasn’t enough for me to love you, I had to know you loved me back.”

  “I understand that now. Let me show you how much I love you.”

  “Yes, please. I’ve missed you, missed us.”

  They made slow, sweet love this time.

  * * *

  “Caleb!”

  He came running from the parlor where the doctor had sent him to wait. When he heard her yell, there was no way he was waiting to see her. Bursting into the room, he saw the doctor at her feet, her legs bent at the knee and spread wide.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, son. If you’re going to be in here make yourself useful and hold her hand. Maggie, you squeeze his hand hard as you need to when you feel a contraction. We’re almost there. Ready?”

  “Yes, Doc,” she panted. “Ohhh, God, Caleb.”

  “I’m here, sweetheart. Squeeze my hand.”

  “Breathe and give me a good push, now,” said the doctor. “Push, Maggie, push hard.”

  She beared down, squeezing Caleb’s hand until she couldn’t any longer. Then she lay back and panted trying to get her breath.

  “Rest a minute, then when I say, you give me one more push. Okay. We’ve almost got us a baby here. Now. Push!”

  She pushed and with a whoosh, the baby slid out into the doctor’s waiting hands. “Well, now it looks like we have a little boy.” He tied off the cord and clipped it then handed the baby to Maria who was helping him. She took the baby to the commode where there was a basin of warm water and cleaned him up. Then she bundled him up and handed him to Caleb.

  “Here you go, Papa. Say hello to your new son,”

  Caleb took the baby and sat down on the bed with him. He unwrapped him and gave him to Maggie. She counted all his fingers and toes, ran her fingers through his dark brown hair. Just like in her dream, the baby was the spitting image of Caleb. Except for his eyes. He had Maggie’s clear green eyes.

  “What shall we name him?” she asked.

  “What would you like to name him? We could name him after our fathers.”

  “I’m not naming my son Ezra. I couldn’t saddle the poor little thing with a name like that. Besides, my father is a bastard and I wouldn’t name a child of mine after him anyway.”

  “Then let’s call him Lawrence. I always liked that name. I had a friend as a boy who was named Lawrence. We called him Larry.”

  “Larry Black. I like it.”

  The baby started to fuss and she opened her nightgown and put him to her breast. He nuzzled her and looked for her nipple. She helped him to find it and he started to suckle.

  “Isn’t he beautiful?” She looked up at her husband. “He’s beautiful just like his papa and his big sister. You should go get her. She needs to meet her new brother.”

  Caleb smiled, “Be right back.”

  A few minutes later he and Rachel returned.

  She came up to the bed and peeked at the baby still nursing.

  “Well, what do you think?” Maggie asked Rachel.

  “He’s awful little,” said Rachel, her voice full of awe.

  “He’ll grow fast,” said Caleb. “Before you know it, he’ll be running after you and getting into everything and driving you crazy.”

  “Nah,” said Rachel, taking little Larry’s fingers in her hand, “He’s gonna be my best friend.”

  THE END

  Excerpt from

  Gnome On The Range

  by Jennifer Zane

  Chapter One

  “I’m not sure which one I want. I didn’t realize there were so many choices!”

  The woman wasn’t on the hunt for a new car or juice boxes at the grocery store. Nope. She wanted a dildo. I called her type a Waffler. Someone who contemplated all options before even attempting to make a choice. Because of Miss Waffler, I had ten different dildo models spread out across the counter. Glass, silicone, jelly and battery powered. She needed help.

  That’s where I came in. My name is Jane West and I run Goldilocks, the adult store in Bozeman, Montana, my mother-in-law opened back in the seventies. Story goes she named it after the fairytale character when a mother bear and her two cubs walked down Willson right in front of the store the week before it opened. She called it fate. Or it could have been because her name is Goldie, so it made sense. I started working for her when my husband died, a temporary arrangement that helped her out. Three years later, things had turned long-term temporary.

  The store was tasteful considering the offerings. The walls were a fresh white, shelves and displays just like you’d find at the typical department store. Then tasteful made way for tacky. Gold toned industrial carpet like you’d see in Vegas, a photo of a naked woman sprawled artfully across a bearskin rug over the counter. A sixties chandelier graced the meager entry. Goldie had to put her unique stamp on things somehow.

  It wasn’t a big store, just one room with a storage area and bathroom in back. Whatever she didn’t have in stock—although you’d be amazed at the selection Goldie offered in such a small space—we ordered in. Montanans were patient shoppers. With few options store-wise in Bozeman, most people ordered everything but the basics from the Internet. There’s one Walmart, one Target, one Old Navy. Only one of everything. In a big city, if you drove two miles you came across a repeat store. Urban sprawl at its finest. Not here, although there were two sets of Golden Arches. One in town and one off the highway for the tourists who needed a Big Mac on the way to Yellowstone. The anchor store of the town’s only mall was a chain bookstore. No Nordstrom or Bass Pro Shop out here. You shopped local or you went home.

  In the case of the woman in front of me, I wished she’d just go home.

  Don’t get me wrong, I liked helping people and I’m comfortable talking sex toys with anyone. But this time was definitely different. Big time.

  Behind Miss Waffler stood a fireman. A really attractive, tall, well muscled one wearing a Bozeman Fire T-shirt and navy pants. Can you say hot? A hot man in uniform? Yup, it was a cliché, but this one was dead-on accurate. He’d come in while I was comparing the various dildo models before I went into the perks of having rotation for best female stimulation. The first time.

  “Can you explain the features of each one again?” Miss Waffler had her fingers on the edge of the glass counter as if she were afraid to touch them. Petite, she was slim to the point of anorexic. Her rough voice said smoker, at least a pack a day. Her skin was weathered, either from cigarettes or the Montana weather, and wrinkles had taken over her face. She’d be pretty if she ate something and kicked the habit.

  I gave her my best fake smile. “Sure.”

  I darted a glance at the fireman over the woman’s shoulder. Sandy hair trimmed military short, blue eyes, strong features. Thirties. A great smile. He seemed perfectly content to wait his turn. If the humorous glint in his eye and the way he bit his lip, most likely to keep from smiling, was any indication, he was clearly enjoying himself. A radio squawked on his belt and he turned it down. Obviously my lesson on sexual aids was more important than a five-alarm fire.

  Miss Waffler was completely oblivious of, and unaffected by, the fireman. I now knew why she wanted a dildo.

  I picked up a bright blue model. “This one is battery powered and vibrates. Three settings. Good for clitoral stimulation.” I put it down and picked up another. “This one is glass. No batteries, so it’s meant for penetration. The best thing about it is you can put it in the freezer or warm it and it provides a varied experience.”

&nbs
p; The woman made some ah sounds as I gave the details. I went through all the possibilities with her one at a time. I got to the tenth and final model. “This one is obviously realistic. It’s actually molded from the erect penis of a porn star. It’s made of silicone and has suction cups on the base.”

  Fireman peered over the woman’s shoulder as I suction cupped the dildo to the glass counter. Thwap.

  “You can attach it to a piece of furniture if you want to keep your hands free.”

  Both fireman and Miss Waffler nodded their heads as if they could picture what I was talking about.

  “I’ll take that one,” she said as she pointed to number ten. The eight inch Whopper Dong.

  “Good choice.”

  I rang up Miss Waffler’s purchase and she happily went off to take care of business.

  And there he was. Mr. Fireman. And me. And dildo display made three.

  “Um…thanks for waiting.” I tucked my curly hair behind an ear.

  “Sure. You learn something new every day.” He smiled. Not just with his mouth, but with his eyes. Very blue eyes.

  Right there, in the middle of my mother-in-law’s sex store, dildos and all, there was a spring thaw in my libido. It had long since gone as cold as Montana in January. Who could have blamed it with all of my dead husband’s shenanigans? But right then I felt my heart rate go up, my palms sweat from nerves. The fireman didn’t seem the least bit phased by my little sex toy talk. I, on the other hand, was having a hot flash like a menopausal woman just looking at him.

  “I’m Jane. What can I help you with today?” Hi, I’m Jane. I’m thirty-three. I like hiking in the mountains, cross-country skiing, I’m a Scorpio, and I want to rip that uniform off your hot body. I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts.

  He laughed and held out his hand. His grip was firm, his skin warm and a little rough. “Ty. Thanks, but no toys for me.” A pager beeped. He looked at it briefly and ignored it.

  “Don’t you need to answer that? A fire or something?” I asked.

  “Cat up a tree,” he joked.

  I laughed, and heard my nerves in it. I took a deep breath to try and calm my racing heart. It didn’t work. All it did was make me discover how good he smelled. It wasn’t heavy cologne. Soap maybe. I didn’t really care if it was deodorant. He smelled fabulous.

  “Actually, it was for station two. I’m here for your fire safety inspection.” He placed papers on the counter. Had he been holding them all this time? I hadn’t noticed. For the next fifteen minutes we went over fire inspection paperwork with an elephant in the room the shape of a dildo.

  Excerpt from

  Killing Secrets

  by Karen Docter

  Copyright 2013 by Karen Docter

  Four weeks….

  Two days….

  Sixteen hours….

  …’Til death.

  The first time he laid eyes on her, he stood on the threshold of a doorway he dare not cross. He fell into her fathomless dark gaze, unable, unwilling to shake his soul free and, in that one moment, he knew.

  She was meant for him to love.

  Untouched by the sordid life that flourished around her, she was sunlight in a gray existence. A smile in a dingy room. A joy such as he’d never known. She was a gift from a cold, unforgiving God. Forever innocent.

  Why God would give him such a precious angel, he didn’t know. But he suddenly knew what he was willing to die for. What he’d kill for.

  In that instant of clarity the monster that lurked in the dark recesses of his mind was freed. A creature designed to kill. To live and die. Over and over again. Until his angel ascended once more to her place in Heaven at God’s feet where he couldn’t reach her.

  ’Til death parted them, she was his and his alone.

  Certain she’d been lost to him forever, the shock of spotting her again in LoDo, a lower downtown section of Denver, nearly brought him to his knees. His brain tried to tell him he was mistaken. She had more curves than he remembered. Her hairstyle and clothes were different.

  The others were different, too.

  He shook his head against the monster’s treacherous whisper. He refused to listen. Couldn’t listen. This time, when his angel smiled at him, his soul recognized her. Somehow, some way, his fractious God had been appeased and given him yet another chance.

  The past seven days were hell. Watching her. Wanting to take her. Knowing he couldn’t screw up and lose her again. Tonight, his preparations in place, she’d return to his side where she belonged. And this time, he wouldn’t let her go.

  Breathing slow and measured through the full-face ski mask he’d bought at a thrift store, he sucked in a lungful of musty stench. In this uncommon late-May heat wave, he was sweating bullets but the wool soaked it up before it could sting his eyes. The itching would drive him insane, though, if she didn’t come home from work soon.

  The LoDo sports bar where she waited tables closed almost an hour ago. She couldn’t have gone on a date at two o’clock on a Thursday morning, could she?

  Three times he’d entered her ground floor apartment after she’d left for work, and he’d seen no sign she was involved with anyone. No jockey shorts mixed with her panties in the hamper. No extra razor. The food in the refrigerator wasn’t enough to feed a cat, let alone her and a boyfriend, and the only scent on her pillows was floral. The sole message from a male on her answering machine had identified himself as a special research librarian from the Denver Public Library reminding her to pick up the copy of “The Warwick Genealogy” she’d requested.

  That doesn’t mean she isn’t still involved with him, the almighty scion of Thorne Enterprises. She’s probably crawling into his bed like a whore right this minute, letting him do things to her, making her scream….

  Screams.

  Blood.

  Death.

  “No! Stop! That didn’t happen,” he whispered. “That was a mistake!”

  Was it? The insidious question lashed him from the dark place in his pounding mind.

  He rejected the smirking voice, the vivid images. Think of something else. Anything else. Forgetforgetfor—

  A car alarm screamed in an outlying parking lot and dragged him out of his fugue. His eyes cleared. The pain behind them eased to a level he’d learned to carry over the years. He took a deep breath to smother his panic.

  Soon, he would kill the nightmares forever. Patrick Thorne would die and the secrets with him. But the contractor hadn’t been punished enough yet. Before he finished, he’d ruin Thorne’s reputation, his livelihood, and destroy everything he loved most in the world.

  Just as Thorne destroyed our life. The man must die! Now!

  Restless to escape its bonds the monster thrust knife-hot pain into his skull, but he pushed it back into the shadows and locked it down. Retribution was almost at hand, but not tonight. This night was about her.

  Where the hell was she?

  There! Her tennis shoes slapped the sidewalk as she approached. He caught a flash of uniform—shorts and sports shirt, both too tight for decency. Then she walked out of the weak light that pooled across the commons into the dark well that led to her door. Her building superintendent had replaced her broken porch light this morning, but he’d smashed it again. He smiled when she cursed someone named Ronnie.

  With a jingle of keys, she passed the niche he’d carved for himself in the shrubs. A punch of adrenaline surged through him, made him lightheaded with anticipation. He shook the buzz from his head and crashed out of the bushes with more noise than he intended.

  Her head snapped left. She shot a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened. She lunged for the safety of her door.

  He chased after her, grabbed her by the throat. A squeeze of her windpipe cut off her scream. He didn’t want to damage her too much. He just needed to get her alone.

  To atone. To give him another chance.

  With her soft body pressed against him, he groaned with pleasure. It had been so long! For a moment he fo
rgot his purpose, lost in the new scent of her, in the innocent softness of her curves against him. Her breasts were full beneath his forearm. The sweet curve of her bottom cradled his stiff penis. With another groan, his grip relaxed.

  She screamed. Struggling, she broke loose of his hold.

  Shit! Reaching out, he snagged her long ponytail and yanked her back hard. With his other hand, he strangled her next scream into a whimper. “Do that again,” he grated, “I’ll use my knife.” The honed blade was secure in his pocket but she didn’t know that.

  “I have money,” she croaked. “Three hundred. Tips. In my pocket. Please! Don’t—”

  “Shh. Don’t fight me. Shhh,” he crooned into her hair. He tugged a chloroform-laced rag from his pants pocket and fitted it over her nose and mouth. “Just give me another chance, Angel, and everything will be fine.”

  This time she’d make the right choice because, God only knew, he’d truly go insane if he had to kill her all over again.

  Excerpt from

  Red Night

  by Michele Callahan

  Chapter One

  Timewalker Taken: Alexa, Seventeenth Daughter of Aryssa

  Mission: Present Day, Earth - Destroy the Red Death

  Talent: Invisibility

  Despite years of warnings, Alexa was not prepared for the freezing shock of her journey to Earth. She wanted to scream in agony, but she had no air to breathe in this in-between dimension. Her mother had explained the frigid reality of the time strands, how her naked flesh would feel as if it were being systematically stripped to her bones by endless shards of splintering ice. This one-way trip to the past would last less than a minute. One minute in her own personal Purgatory, and her sins had been many. So, she gritted her teeth and waited. Waited for the agony to subside. Waited for the nirvana of soft green grass brushing at her skin like a thousand tickling fingertips.

  Her mother had been Taken, and her mother before her, and so on, since the Archivers had begun recording the Chronicles Of Time. Death or Service. That had been her ancestor’s choice nearly four hundred years ago, and the eldest daughter in each generation now owed the Archiver a life. The family gift—invisibility—had been handed down from mother to daughter for seventeen generations. Her heritage swelled her head and chest with pride. But the unrelenting grip of her ancestry also squeezed her with arduous pressure, demanding she not fail. She did not want to be the first of her line to bring her name dishonor. However, a far heavier burden threatened to pull her into the suffocating quicksand of fear. Billions of lives were at stake. Billions.