Redemption, renewal, and relish on a whole wheat bun.

Contemporary, Romantic Suspense 87,800 Words - Under contract with Aspen Mountain Press

Release Date set for October 31, 2011

A MAN SEEKING REDEMPTION:  Upon learning shy Helen Ableman is pregnant with his child, college-bound jock Ben Smiley takes a soul-searching drive that lands him in the middle of a gunfight between drug lords. One of the few survivors and the only reliable witness, he enters the FBI’s Federal Protection Program.

Assuming a new identity, Ben pretends Helen and his child never existed. He becomes a successful attorney, yet shame eats at him. Eighteen years after the fact, he risks everything to go home and make things right.

A SINGLE MOM TRYING TO MAKE ENDS MEET:  Abandoned by Ben and her family, Helen just 17, quit high school to raise Theo and work at Hot Diggitys, the town’s iconic hotdog shaped-restaurant on the Nalley boardwalk. Struggling and selfless but feisty, Helen eventually becomes the upscale hotdog eatery’s owner.

THE SON DRAWS THEM TOGETHER:  Helen dreams of college for Theo but he refuses to use her meager savings for himself. When the father he thought was dead appears from nowhere and turns out to be wealthy and connected, Theo is faced with choices he’d never imagined.

Mustard on Top First 20 Pages:

Prologue:

Nalley, Washington

Ben Smiley lifted a purple, varsity jersey from the pile of folded laundry and sent it sailing across the room where it landed in the corner with other clothes meant for Goodwill.
His bedroom door flew open then his mother pointed a thin finger at his stereo. "Turn that down!"
In a fluid motion, Ben swung his arm back and twisted the volume on his stereo. One more day and he'd be free from her intrusions. "What's up?"
Hovering in the doorway, his mother said, "Helen's here."
Helen. An ex. Sort of. If Ben had exes, which he didn't. He glanced at his suitcase then picked up a pair of pants and tossed them inside. He was waiting for his mother to leave.
"She knows you're leaving in the morning?"
Ben shrugged. "Probably." He hadn't talked to Helen in a couple months, but Nalley was small and a Florida State football scholarship for the local kid was a big deal. Not that he needed a scholarship.
He sorted two more items before his mother walked away.
Who knew what Helen wanted? Probably saying goodbye since she hadn't attended his going away party. That was no surprise; she wasn't the partying type.    
When he stepped in the living room, Helen was standing with her hands clasped in a tight ball over her abdomen and staring at the family photos that dotted the walls. She wore a familiar pair of loose-fitting cutoffs that showcased her tan, long, slender legs. Strands of her waist-length chestnut hair fell in stark lines over her pink T-shirt.
Memories of their mingled flesh, her silken breasts, and soft skin had him thinking of sex.
"Hey Helen. What's up?" Ben asked.
Helen's gaze skittered around the room then settled on his face. Her eyes reminded him of a stray dog's: resigned, hungry, yet hopeful. It put him on edge.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
Ben blew out a breath then called over his shoulder, "Mom, I'm going out for a few minutes."
When he looked back, Helen was staring down. Ben followed her gaze to her sandals. One of the brown straps had broken and she was wiggling a newly freed big toe. Scuffed and worn, the sandals looked about ten-years-old. Helen had always been on the other side of fashion.
"Wait here a sec," Ben said then retreated to his room to get his keys and wallet. He walked passed her, opened the front door and held it. "Let's talk in the car."
Once Helen was on the porch, Ben bound past her taking the steps two at a time. In the late summer heat, his shirt clung to him as he went to Venus, his vintage Corvair Convertible.
Though Helen had only covered half the distance to the car, he popped her door open then jogged around to his side. Whatever she had to say, he wanted to get it over with. He had a date with a plane in the morning and mentally he was already gone.
The car was at least ten degrees hotter inside and Ben put the top down. It clicked into place as Helen slid in next to him and slammed the door. She gave him a strained look that made him think tears would follow. He hated tears.
They drove in silence for three blocks. Helen's muteness annoyed him. "So, what's up?" he queried.   
"Well–"    
Hearing the wobble in her voice, Ben clenched the steering wheel and hit the gas. They jerked forward. "Oops. Sorry."
Helen began again, "I know this is really bad timing and everything."
His dread felt like a bowling ball in his gut. Ben noticed Helen stared down at her hands in her lap. "Out with it!" Ben burst not wanting to know.
"I'm pregnant."
No, he thought, no! I am going to college. In Florida. Baseball. Football. Girls in bikinis. Ben looked at her. Her eyes were red and glistening. "No you're not."
"I did the test three times."
Anger squeezed his chest making it hard to breathe. His future was planned. And Helen wasn't it. Nor was fatherhood, at least not for many years.
Pretty but shy, Helen had been a virgin when they'd started dating. When she'd finally slept with him three months later, she'd been nervous and it had been a bungled, messy affair.
They'd seen each other a few times afterward, but Ben's interest in her had waned. Her shyness, once attractive, began to grate on him. And there were always other girls waiting.
"How do I know it's mine?" Ben asked.
He barely saw her hand before it struck his cheek. "Ouch!" His face stung and Ben rubbed it.
"I should have known you'd be a jerk," Helen spat.
"What? It's a legitimate question."
"Stop the car. I want out."
Letting her go and acting like he'd imagined the entire interaction would have been easy; but Ben ignored the command. He drew in a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry. Okay?"
Helen crossed her arms under her breasts and glared.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
Pursing her lips so hard one of her dimples showed, Helen said, "Keep it." 
Ben shrunk in the seat. "You're still in high school."
"I'll get a GED." Defiant anger had replaced the tears.
"I'm leaving for college tomorrow." He felt like he was pleading.
"Of course you are."
Still there were ways out of the mess if only Helen would agree. Adoption. Abortion.
As Ben turned the car onto a street that ran parallel to the Nalley boardwalk and the vast blue-black Pacific Ocean, his anger over having no say in the matter flared. "What do you want me to do? Marry you and get a minimum wage job so we can live in poverty for the rest of our lives?"
"You know Ben? I really didn't expect anything from you, but I thought, as a courtesy, I'd let you know you're going to have a child."
"Don't have a baby just to spite me," Ben growled.
"My God. You are such a selfish, self-centered dweeb."
Seeing the pain in her eyes, Ben bit back a retort. He'd always liked Helen, and, as an only child who was used to getting his way, he wasn't used to arguing. He took a deep breath. "What about adoption?"
"Take. Me. Back."
Not knowing what to say, Ben turned the car around and hit the gas. The engine roared, and Helen's dark, straight hair lashed in the wind.
Ben skidded to a stop in front of his house.
Helen had the door open before he'd switched off the ignition. Taut muscles had him wanting to spring from the car. He ought to do something, but what? "Helen!"
She whipped around. "What!"
With her glare on him, Ben shrunk back. She had an inner strength he'd never seen before; and he knew she wasn't bluffing. She meant to have the baby and raise it too. He tried to form the words that he'd stay; that he'd help, but they wouldn't congeal in his throat. "Do you need some money?"
"Go to hell!" Helen slammed the door then took off at a run.
"Fuck!" Ben pounded his fists into the steering wheel. A baby was a game changer. "Damn it!" Venus rumbled beneath him, seeming as unsettled as Ben felt. Ben glanced at his home then shook his head. He wasn't ready to be a dad and the idea of being married was even worse.
He needed to think. Sliding the gearshift into drive, Ben pulled away from the curb.
Minutes later he was leaving Nalley, a tourist town near Seattle, and heading south on Highway 5.
Venus wrapped around him like a security blanket. Venus was his lair: it was where he'd drunk his first beer; where he'd touched his first breast; and as sure as anything, where Helen had gotten pregnant. Wind tussled his hair, and shouted in his ears while Ben wrestled with his thoughts.
The hours melted one into the next.     
Be kept coming back to the same idea: he'd been trapped. Getting pregnant was the oldest trick in the book. For Helen, marrying into the Smiley family would be a step up. Hell, a whole ladder up. Just when he would convince himself she deserved to be abandoned, he'd remember that he'd been the pursuer.
The sun went off duty leaving a haze that the night sky was devouring. Towering pines lined the highway as far as Ben could see. When he noticed the gas gage hovering at empty, Ben decided it was time to turn back.
He'd thrown his fit and now he was ready to accept fate.  As much as he wanted to pursue his plans, he couldn't pretend Helen and the baby didn't exist.
Maybe all wasn't lost. She could move to Florida with him. They'd come up with a plan.
A highway sign noted he was twenty-three miles from Portland and there was gas at the next exit. As Ben rolled down the exit ramp the air about him calmed.    
The gas station situated at the base of the exit ramp was boarded up. Figuring there must be another nearby, and unsure how much further the next exit would be, Ben decided to take his chances and drove toward the lights he saw in the distance.
As he got nearer, he saw it was an industrial complex. The group of buildings were in a clump as if someone had dropped a handful of seeds. Hoping to find a convenience store or someone to ask where the nearest gas station was, Ben turned into the parking lot.
It was as big as a football field and dotted by streetlights. A single boxy car was parked next to one of the entrances. Lights, in pairs, and low to the ground, beamed from behind the building. He heard the grumble of engines.
Hoping to find someone who could direct him to the nearest gas station, Ben drove toward them. Turning the corner, he found a small group of men standing in a loose circle. More men were next to cars that were scattered, some with lights blaring, some still running. They all seemed to sense his presence and turned to look at him.
Unease lodged itself in Ben's chest. He raised a hand in greeting. No one reciprocated.
Noticing bandanas slashed over foreheads, backwards hats and sloppy, baggy pants, Ben's unease was upgraded to slight terror.
Stupid, stupid day, he thought. Instinct and the gas dial that was pointed at ‘E' kept his bitter mood in check. "Excuse me," he yelled, "I'm trying to find a gas station."
In his peripheral vision, he saw a man walking toward him. He held something in his hand. A glimpse confirmed Ben's fears. A gun.   
Ben grasped the gear shifter and put the car in reverse. Hearing the roar of another engine behind him, he pivoted. A car blocked his way out.    
"Get out the car with your hands up!" Ben's gaze swung in the direction of the voice where a man stood with his arm outstretched. He held a gun pointed at Ben's head.
Instinct had Ben throwing his hands up in surrender. "Not necessary. I'll just leave." If only he could. He scanned his surroundings. The median was at least eight-inches-high. Could the Corvair scale it?
"Get the fuck out the car." The deep voice sounded relaxed which only made it more menacing. Now the man held the gun in both hands.
"I'm lost–"
A shot exploded and Ben ducked, fla ttening himself to the seat.
"I said get the fuck out the car, lest you want a bullet in yo head."
He was acting like a coward. Realizing the men weren't going away, Ben raised both hands in the air and inched his way up. When his head floated above the seat, he yelled, "I'm here by accident. I just want to leave."
There was another pop and Ben's windshield shattered raining shards of glass on him. Ben flinched and dropped back down.
"Get. Out. The. Car." The voice was as smooth as a bullet. And getting closer.
It felt as if a vice grip were squeezing his chest, and Ben fought for air. They want the car, he tried to convince himself. Lifting his hands in the air, he rose up. Glass clinked as it tumbled off him. Two more men had guns trained on him. "I'm getting out. Don't shoot!" His voice sounded foreign.
Moving with slow exaggeration, Ben opened the car door. Feeling vulnerable, he stepped free. Another man, ebony colored with large, white eyes, approached.
"Spread your legs."
Ben's gaze slid to one of the guns trained on him. It glinted in the Corvair's headlights. He held his hands up. With his legs trembling, he stepped wider. When the ebony man stepped closer and reached for him, Ben instinctively jerked back.
"Settle down." The man ordered then patted his ribs with both hands. As he felt up and down Ben's body, presumably searching for a weapon, Ben fought his growing fear.   
"He's clean," the man announced.   
"Bring him here," someone said.
The man who'd searched him, wrapped his impossibly large hand around Ben's bicep and yanked.    
Stunned, Ben moved toward the center of the group. He scanned his surroundings hoping to escape, but was too afraid to risk a bullet if he ran. In the center of the group were two men whom the others watched and seemed to defer to.
One was white and covered with freckles, the other black with dreadlocks. Freckles and Dreadlocks. He focused on the taller of the two. With inky chocolate skin, Dreadlocks had a wide flat nose and a scar that ran below his left eye.
"This is a misunderstanding." Ben's voice wobbled. "I was just looking for a gas station. You can check my car, it's—"
"Shut the fuck up," Dreadlocks said.
Clamping his mouth shut, Ben looked into the scrutinizing eyes of the freckled guy. His fuzzy, copper hair created a halo around his spotted face. Two guns were tattooed in black along his jaw line. Both came to the end of the barrel at the cleft in his chin. Ben tried to maintain eye contact; to show he had nothing to hide. Afraid to talk, afraid not to, he unconsciously shook his head ‘no'.
"What the fuck is that? Some kind of signal?" He felt the harsh tap of a gun barrel pressed against his temple. Pressure in his bladder had him on the verge of peeing. The sound of his own blood rushing in his ears made it hard to hear.
"I swear I was just looking for a gas station," he managed.
"Who sent you?" Freckles asked.
The lights in the parking lot began to tip and spin. The onset of dizziness made Ben fighting to keep his balance. "No one. No one sent me."
Freckles jabbed a gun in his gut as if the one at his head weren't threatening enough. "I said. Who sent you?"
The sound of rushing water grew louder as Ben's vision swam in and out of darkness. "I just–" Then everything went black.

Ben's first conscious thought was that he was lying on something hard. Then he noticed the pounding pain behind his eyes and heard shouting. Disoriented and dizzy, he stayed still trying to remember where he was. When he did, renewed horror washed over him.
Opening his eyes to slits, he half expected someone to shoot him. 
Someone's blue, Converse tennis shoes were inches from his face. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he slowly looked up. He paused at the gun. It was close enough that Ben could have reached out and touched it. A freckled fingertip slid back and forth across the trigger. Suddenly, the shouting stopped.
Ben contemplated closing his eyes, but his curiosity was too great. Turning his head, he looked up. Freckles and Dreadlocks were locked in a stare.
Relieved they weren't paying attention to him, he looked back at Freckle's gun. Freckle's finger on the trigger grew taut and deadly white. Then, the gun, for one horrible millisecond, was pointed at Ben's face as Freckles swung it up. Realizing Freckle's intention, Ben shouted as the gun exploded. 
Ben shrieked as Dreadlocks, faceless and raining blood, stumbled back. Someone caught him then pushed him in the other direction. Dreadlocks stumbled forward then stepped on Ben's leg before tumbling down.    
Before he hit the ground, gunfire erupted.

Chapter 1

Eighteen Years Later
Nalley, Washington.

Helen had just balanced the cutting board on the pot's edge, when she heard a brief, loud buzz sounding like a hundred angry bees. Her doorbell.
"Theo! Can you get that!" She swiped chopped parsley into the pot with her hand then, peering at a series of bottled food additives she'd just gotten in the mail, she picked one up labeled "Cinnamic Aldehyde."
Her introduction to food additives had come from the college Chemistry class she was taking. As soon as she learned about them, she couldn't wait to experiment. Grinning, she twisted the bottle open and sniffed. It smelled oddly of cinnamon and curry.
The doorbell forgotten, she tapped a few drops into the sizzling concoction. She picked up the spoon to stir it then nearly dropped it when a longer, more-insistent buzz startled her. Abandoning her creation, Helen rinsed her hands in the sink. 
"Theo!" Her seventeen-year-old son was likely in the garage working on his non-running, vintage Corvette.
She grabbed a dishtowel on her way to the front door. Once in the living room, she peeked through the picture window to the porch.
A tall, trim, broad-shouldered man with dark hair sliced through with gray stood on her front porch. If not for his rigid posture and the way his mouth was downturned into a worried-looking frown, he could have graced the cover of a magazine. Judging from the way they fit, he wore designer jeans. An unbuttoned, medium blue shirt over a white T-shirt contrasted nicely.
He was too good-looking, too nicely dressed to be anything but trouble. Bracing herself, Helen opened the door. "Can I help you?"
When his gaze sauntered from her hair to her chin, to her nose then settled on her eyes, Helen felt her heart speed up.     "Helen." It was a statement.
She narrowed her gaze. Somewhere in the recesses of her memory the man before her, with his dark eyes and strong all-American jaw line, lurked. "Who are you?"
"Ben Smiley."
That was it! The thrill of discovery was short-lived. Helen didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "You're late."