Tag: literature

He Rode Tall

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excerpt

Trying to remember everything that Tanya had taught him
about reining in the last two months, Joel quietly walked the big
buckskin into the arena and took his position just outside of the
end gate. After nodding to the judge, he began his run into the
show pen. He could not remember feeling so nervous, but he
knew that he couldn’t let that get in his way. He needed to focus
on everything that Tanya had taught him. Sure, he wasn’t on a
100,000-dollar horse and, sure, he wasn’t accompanied by his
own cheering section, but he had a good horse and had worked
hard to learn everything he could. He had put a lot of miles on the
buckskin, not only in the training arena, but also out in the
wide-open spaces, and if anyone was going to get a great performance
out of this horse, Joel knew that would be him. Besides, if
they were going to take full advantage of the quality breeding in
their horses, it would sure help to get a few nice wins on the
three-year-olds—the buckskin and the palomino had shown
them enough to earn the right to be there.
Leaving these thoughts behind, Joel ran the buckskin through
the gate and accelerated into the middle of the arena. With an
incredible blast of raw acceleration and a long run down, the
buckskin executed an awesome sliding stop that went on so far
that it looked like the horse was gliding on Teflon. Once the
buckskin came to a stop, Joel reined the horse to the left, ran him
back down the arena, and executed another excellent sliding
stop, which hurled dirt into the faces of the crowd standing at the
fence. Joel rolled the horse back to the right, quickly moving him
at a gallop past center, and then cued him to stop. This third sliding
stop was immediately followed by a quick reverse to center
with the horse backing effortlessly.
Joel and the buckskin had everyone’s attention—the buzz of
the crowd had quieted and all eyes focused on the horse and rider.
At the center of the arena, Joel waited for a few seconds to allow
the buckskin to rest and Joel to calm himself. Then, with a gentle
shift of the reins, Joel asked for the gelding to spin. With a burst of
energy, the buckskin executed four spins to the right

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

Swamped

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excerpt

He dialed Rebecca’s number first. Her pleasant voice delighted
him when she answered. It was a voice Eteo likened to a mixture of
honey and birdsong, both of which he loved.
“Would you be able to drop by for a few minutes, Eteo?” she
asked. “The annual report for Redama Resources is ready. Come and
have a look at it, and let’s make sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”
Rebecca always consulted him before she filed reports on
Redama with the regulators and other authorities. Eteo had brought
this file to her and she regarded him as the guiding force behind the
company, whose directors, two engineers with little financial background
between them, didn’t know much about these filings. Eteo
had seen many over the years and knew how to peruse them quickly.
“I could come anytime, Rebecca. How is your own schedule?”
“I’m free for the next hour. Could you come over now?”
As usual Eteo had hardly anything to do by this point in his day.
He would have left in half an hour anyway, so he confirmed that he
would walk over soon. It was only two blocks down to the 1177 West
Hastings tower and a quick elevator ride up to the 21st floor where
the Horton and Musgrave offices were located.
Ten minutes later, after telling Helena where he was going and
that he would not be back that day, he was sitting at Horton and Musgrave’s
reception. He only had to wait a minute before Rebecca appeared
and extended her hand, which Eteo squeezed warmly and
held perhaps a moment longer than would have been customary between
business colleagues. Rebecca told the receptionist to hold her
calls and took Eteo to her office. He sat down opposite her and she
handed over the file. It took Eteo only a couple of minutes to be satisfied
that everything that needed to be said was there. When he
handed the papers back he noticed that Rebecca’s hand felt hot and
sweaty, and when he got up to leave, she gave him her hand again.
He pulled her closer and found no resistance at all. Instead Rebecca
almost fell into his arms and returned his deep kiss with equal passion.
Her breathing became fast and excited and Eteo felt his groin’s
hot desire for the body of this attractive young lawyer, who was exploring
his mouth with her tongue and obviously eager for more and
more of him. His hands ran down her delicate body to her buttocks,

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Still Waters

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In the nursery, Tyne watched as Miss Pomeroy, the supervising
nurse, cleansed the baby’s tender skin with cotton soaked in mineral
oil. Then she combed the dark mass of hair into a cock’s comb on
top of the rounded head. There was little moulding of the skull because
Jeannette had had a fairly rapid labour, especially during the
last stages. Tyne had received permission to come into the nursery
while the baby was being admitted, but she was surprised when the
supervisor turned to her and told her she may diaper and dress her
little namesake.
“And then,” said Miss Pomeroy, “Daddy’s waiting at the window.
Would you like to show him his daughter?”
Tyne carried her charge to the viewing window and smiled at a
beaming Guy. His eyes were fixed firmly on his daughter, the look
on his face a mixture of amazement and pride. Finally, he looked up
and, realizing for the first time who held his child, his eyes widened
and he grinned broadly. Then he waggled his fingers at the sleeping
baby, and reluctantly turned away.
Tyne carried the infant to her waiting bassinette and laid her in it
carefully. She was pulling the cover up when a voice behind her said,
“Don’t cover it yet. I’d like to examine it before I go.”
Tyne swung around, and came face to face with Bryce Baldwin.
She felt the blood drain from her head, then return in a rush. Her
pulse raced. He gave her an appraising look, then turned his attention
to the baby. As he unwrapped the child, he spoke to Tyne without
looking at her.
“So, Miss Milligan, I understand you are now a full-fledged nurse.
Was this your last day?”
Tyne took a deep breath. “Yes, it was. Too bad Carol Ann Shaughnessy
couldn’t have had the same privilege. This should have been
her last day as well.”
Tyne saw him tense. After a moment he said, “Where is Miss
Shaughnessy? I haven’t seen her for a while.”
“Oh? You haven’t heard then?” Tyne used her sweetest tone.
Dr. Baldwin turned to look at her. His face had paled. “Heard what?”
Tyne smiled, in no hurry to answer. Doesn’t he know she aborted?
Does he still think she’s having the baby? Does he think she had to leave

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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“Sure. I’ll be happy to try that, but you know that while I’m doing that
I won’t be painting.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Fraser said.
“I’m not worried. I just don’t want you to get in a huff about not having
enough paintings.”
“I said don’t worry. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m happy to do it for you in return for what
you’re doing for me. And I don’t want any money for it.”
“You don’t want any money! Well, I never – a man who doesn’t want
money. So what do you want?”
“I just don’t want you to get upset when my painting production falls
off because I’m doing other things for you.”
“Of course, I’ll be upset at your lack of paintings. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“But that’s not reasonable!”
“It’s quite reasonable in light of how you present yourself – as the one
apart – the one to whom the rules don’t apply – the one who walked in
here without an appointment. There isn’t a painter in the country that
would dare do that. And, your shenanigans in the Peace River Country
– and your wanderings in the Arctic – as if you owned the bloody place.
You put yourself forward, with a quiet aloofness, as the man who can do
everything and anything, so I’m sure it won’t be any kind of a trick for
you to be in two places at the same time, doing two different things at the
same time.”
“Well,” Ken said. “That’s not how I see myself.”
“Fine. But I’m only telling you how you portray yourself.”
“If I was who you say I am, I’d be able to get my Arctic paintings and
stories out to the public, and I can’t.”
“Your Arctic paintings are the only tentative part of you. You haven’t
come to terms with that subject. You’re unsure and it shows. Everything
else you paint is clear, simple, strong and sure-footed. But don’t be concerned.
In good time, all of this will look after itself. With your confidence
and your bloody single-mindedness, you’ll work your way through it. But
right now, you’re not there and I will neither show them nor recommend
them. In that area you have a long way to go.”
That evening, he related the conversation to Helen.
She laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised. You have an ego as big as
the world. You’re full of yourself. The long and short of it is that you’re
arrogant. Alex is right. You wander into a place, you give it the once-over
and all of a sudden, you’re going to fix everything, you’re in control, and
you’ll take care of it. That’s what it looks like from the outside.”
“It does?”
“Yes, it does. And what do you have in mind anyway? Where are you
heading with all this?”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

The Circle

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incinerated bodies, and pain. Then she remembers the body of a man next to
hers and she is being violated. Her mind, suddenly feels as if it is exploding when
she realizes what had really happened.
She turns to Matthew and says, “So, you have come to enjoy necrophilia
these days, Matthew Roberts. You must be really desperate. You obviously
couldn’t wait until morning.”
He turns looking at her with a smile.
“You looked so attractive, sweetheart, I couldn’t resist.”
Suddenly the room becomes dark and an explosive anger overtakes her
whole body; her eyes darken and her heart accelerates in a frenetic rhythm as if to
break through her chest and run away, burning everything in its path.
“Of course, you couldn’t resist using your weekend whore. That’s what you
always do, five minutes for your pleasure; five minutes is always enough for you
to find your manhood at its peak. The thought of how you view lovemaking
makes me puke,” she yells.
He’s flabbergasted by her outburst; he has never seen his Emily in this state of
mind. This is not his Emily, the quiet calm person he has known all those years.
She screams from the depths of her larynx and her voice carries such disgust,
such pain, such nausea that his eyes and mouth open wide and he doesn’t know
what to do or say. Suddenly, he interrupts her.
“What is it, sweetheart? Why all this commotion?”
“Don’t sweetheart me! Don’t you ever dare sweetheart me again, Matthew
Roberts. I’ve had enough of that. I have had enough of that, do you hear me? I’m
not your sweetheart or your weekend whore, anymore!”
He ducks down as if expecting her to throw something. He has never seen her
this way. He becomes apologetic.
“What would you like me to do, Emily?”
But her anger is so fierce and unappeased that she can no longer think logically.
She yells out her frustration and pain, “When you come to the point of violating me
when I’m asleep, I don’t know what you want me to say, Matthew. You are
despicable! You make me sick! Yes, my God, how you make me sick! I don’t even
want to look at you anymore.Why the hell do I put up with your crap all the time?
For the stupid salary you earn; for the stupid agency you work for; for the stupid life
you and I lead? It makes me sick to think of all that. Yes, Matthew Roberts, it makes
me sick! You make me sick. I want you out of here. Are you listening to me? I want
you out of here, out of my life! I’m not your weekend whore, anymore. Go, go to
your stupid hotel where you spend every day of the week. You may as well spend
your weekends there. Why did you come here? For your five-minute fuck?” The
tears course down her cheeks, and she wonders why she has not revolted before?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

Poodie James

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“Sam, you’re smart enough. You wouldn’t work if your life
depended on it. You been a proper stiff all your miserable life?”
“Only since I was old enough to leave home fifty years ago.
‘Bout you?”
“Oh,” Engine Fred said as he uncapped one of the pints, “I had a
job, a wife, kids, a house, dogs, even a car. They had me, really. I
left all that behind. I had to get out from under.”
“Think you’ll ever go back to it?’
“If I did, it wouldn’t be there.”
Poodie watched, intent on the conversation, marveling that
these men rode freight trains, lived in the open, begged for food,
did odd jobs, wanted no home, and he had found a home. Engine
Fred offered him whiskey out of his tin cup.
“Just a sip, see how you like it.”
Engine Fred and Old Sam laughed at Poodie’s grimace and the
tears in his eyes.
“You’ll get used to it,” Old Sam said, peering at Poodie’s face.
Poodie shook his head and made low sounds. He got out his pad
and pencil, wrote, tore off the sheet and handed it to the old man.
Old Sam studied it, shrugged and passed the note to Engine Fred.
“What’s it say, Engine?”
“It says, ‘No more of that.’ See, Sam, I told you he was smart.”
Two nights later, Poodie made his way up to the jungle carrying a
bag of apples. As he came around the big boulder at the path’s final
turn, he saw Old Sam cowering near the bonfire, trying to shield
his head from the blows of a big man in black clothing wielding a
club, a cloth tied over his nose and mouth, his hat pulled low. Sam
twisted, arched his back, tried to tuck his chin into his chest. The
man kicked at Sam’s groin and aimed the club at his ribs, chest and
face. Poodie dropped the apples and stood frozen. The man suspended
his club in mid-strike and looked at Poodie. All that
Poodie could see of his face was eyes reflecting the firelight. The
attacker started toward him, then turned and ran toward the tracks.
Poodie rushed to Sam. The old man’s neck was bloody.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

said Chopyk with only a hint of irony. He stroked his beard and stared at her with curiosity in his eyes. “I understand from Maria that you have a class scheduled for this morning.”
“Yes,” replied Jennifer tersely. Don’t explain, don’t apologize. Last night is none of his business. “I want to hear the students’ experiences in Leningrad. I have my own to share, too.”
“But I also know that you have been cancelling classes while in Leningrad….”
“As we discussed that first night,” she broke in quickly, starting across the lobby.
“Yes, agreed…but….” Chopyk followed, taking small, deliberate steps beside her. She matched his fussy gait. What is this nonsense all about? Surely he isn’t going to punish me?
“Since I have been carrying on with classes while in Leningrad for any who care to study,” he sniffed, “I think it only right that you should lead both groups, juniors and seniors, while on the Volga cruise.”
So that was it. Once again, he had hit her at her most guilty moment. He wanted to lounge on the sundeck reading his academic papers and not have to deal with a pack of rowdy students.
“Certainly. I’d be happy to do that,” she answered. “I know how one’s research suffers when class prep is a priority,” she added archly. He appeared not to notice her tone of voice. They entered the dining room in silence.
★
That morning she ended her class by presenting a poem that Volodya had written out for her: an excerpt from “Spring in Leningrad” by the Russian war poet, Margarita Aliger. Jennifer told the students the story of the Leningrad mother who had suffered during the siege and how her son, Volodya, had been moved by this poem. Despite her own sense of loss, Hank’s bad mood and Ted’s hangover, the students rallied and they recited it in Russian, then took a stab at translating it.
“O city without light, without water!
One hundred and twenty five grams of blockade rationed bread…
Savage rumbling of trouble
from the pitiless, dead sky.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

Water in the Wilderness

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She sat down on the sofa and stretched her legs out in front of her. Actually, it did feel good to rest. She had been a little tired and weary in the last few weeks, but she knew it was only because her body was going through hormonal changes. Dr. Rosthern had pronounced her perfectly healthy.
Stifling a yawn, she glanced at her husband. “What did your mom say when you told her we won’t be with them for Christmas dinner? Was she very disappointed?”
Morley looked up. “She said she understands, and she figured we’d be going to your folks this year. And Mom and Dad won’t be alone all day. Aunt Peg and her two daughters will be there for dinner.”
“And we’ll go over in the evening after you’ve done the milking?”
“Of course we will, hon. I told Mom that, and she’s okay with it.”
Tyne yawned again, then getting to her feet, she went to stand behind Morley and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “And you, my dear husband, will be taking me Christmas shopping in Medicine Hat tomorrow, won’t you?”
He tipped his head back to look at her. “Whatever happened to shopping from Eaton’s catalogue like my mom used to do?”
Tyne wrinkled her nose. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re past the middle of the twentieth century. Besides that, I love the excitement of Christmas shopping in the city, the store windows all decorated, and Santa ringing his bell beside the Salvation Army kettle on the sidewalk.”
His eyes were full of laughter. “I hope you’re not disappointed then. We’re going to Medicine Hat, not Calgary.”
“Same thing – you’ll see.” Tyne bent her head to kiss him lightly on the forehead. “Now I must get my beauty sleep if I’m going to be at my shopping best tomorrow. Don’t be long, dear. Let’s finish the tree tomorrow night.”
Morley smiled as his eyes followed her progress up the stairs.
The town of Medicine Hat almost lived up to Tyne’s expectations. The windows were decorated, carols were playing in the stores as well as on the sidewalks, and a fresh fall of snow during the night had left

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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Then he reached to the side, and turned on the
tap of the small bar sink, and filled a pitcher with water. Lastly, he opened
another cupboard, lifted down two tumblers, poured a goodly measure
of whiskey into both, and splashed water into the glasses.
“This is how you and I are going to do business,” he said. “We’re going
to drink.”
‘In the middle of the day?” Ken asked.
“What’s that got to do with anything? We’re going to drink.”
“Why do we have to drink?” Ken eyed the whiskey with revulsion. “My
guess is it’s to do with, ‘get a man drunk and you’ll find out who he is.’”
“Who told you that?”
“My father.”
“I’d like to meet your father.” He took a large swallow. “So, tell me
about yourself.”
Ken told his story, while he watched Fraser drink until the bottle was
empty. He drank a bottle every day, he said, and he was as proud of that
as the fact that he was a one match a day man. He struck a match in the
morning to light his first cigarette, and every subsequent cigarette, for the
rest of the day, was lit from the stub of the last. “It takes discipline to do
that.”
“I want you to come to the gallery two or three days a week. I want to
hear your story. I want you to tell me your feelings, your thoughts, your
understanding of the universe – everything. I want to listen to you. I want
to hear you.”
For several weeks, Ken visited and talked, while Fraser downed a bottle
of rye and smoked an eternal chain of cigarettes. “You have a passion that
is white-hot and I love it,” he said. “We have all these artists around, and
they’re all limp. I want to see a man with a paintbrush in one hand and a
sword in the other. That’s you.”
One day, Ken asked Fraser why he never saw the paintings he sold to
him. “Where do you put them?”
“I’ve sold them.”
“All of them?”
Yes, all of them.”
“Oh my gosh. Well, that’s terrific.”
“You look surprised.”
“I am.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say to me. Of course, they’re sold. So,
bring me some more. Go and paint.”
“There’s a limit to my speed.”
“I’m sure there is and I want to find it. I suspect the faster you paint the
better you get. You’re thinking too much. Don’t think. Painting isn’t about
thinking. This is not an intellectual exercise.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

Arrows

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Tell him I promise his village won’t be damaged, nor his
fields touched. Tell him.”
Losada dismounted and the others followed suit, but he stopped
them with a gesture of his hand. “Infante, Ávila, Galeas,
Maldonado, Pedro and Rodrigo Ponce, Gregorio de la Parra, with
me. Ten harquebusiers and ten pikemen, come forward as well.
Carlos.”
He snapped his fingers, then turned to me. “Friar Salvador, if you
please, come with me. The rest of you, stay where you are, don’t let
your guard down. It wouldn’t be the first time they welcome and
then betray and kill. Keep an eye on your surroundings. At the first
sign of trouble, Juan Suárez, sound the charge. All of you! Diego de
Paradas will command in my absence. Camacho! You are second.
Good luck and may God be with us.”
“Harquebusiers, check your priming!” yelled Diego de Paradas.
Losada put a hand on the hilt of his sword at his hip, as if to
reassure himself. Behind him, the harquebusiers grabbed their
powder flasks and rammed the charges down the muzzles. A flock
of parrots cawed overhead.
“Take good account of everything, Friar Salvador,” said Losada.
“I have a mind to have you write a record of this expedition.”
Recording the expedition would be considered a great honour and a
great responsibility. I nodded. But I knew immediately it would be
impossible to record the truth.
I admired the orderly arrangement of the village. The streets were
smooth under my feet, the houses skilfully made. Earthen pots
steamed over the embers of fires; hammocks were neatly
distributed; baskets and heads of plantain hung from the wooden
structures. Strings of yarn were stretched over primitive looms. On
the sloping thatched roofs, dozens of round cassava cakes dried in
the sun. Human and animal skulls and bones hanging among the
baskets and plantains reminded me of macabre tales of cannibalism.
The Indians stepped aside as we entered the village. They stared
at my feet and then at the rest of me, for I was the only barefooted
Spaniard, let alone one wearing a frock.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522