Sweet Karoline

Catherin Astolfo

I met Ethan on the day that I killed Karoline.

Other than a few minor adjustments, I believe that I have handled her murder exceedingly well.

The state of my car, for instance, has become something of a nuisance. Bits of tissue, used napkins, paper cups and pop cans litter the floor at my feet or fly out the window as I drive along. I am invariably subjected to a barrage of honking whenever I reach a red light.

People these days have no patience. They ought to understand that I am busy examining the stray bits in my car. Some of them are works of art. I don't notice the change to green because they are so infinitely interesting.

This study of creative possibilities has become somewhat of an obsession. In the back of my mind I know that all I have to do is clean it up. Yet the thought of actually tackling the onslaught of debris leaves me inert and helpless.

Ethan offered recently to take me to the car wash. He'd help me dump the debris and vacuum the inside, but I have seriously considered the idea that I may be destroying a future Picasso. I have thus far refused his proposition. Not that I have shared my vision of a Picasso with him, of course. I just say that I never have time.

I have acquired a habit of going shopping. I make lists of things in my mind—groceries, toiletries, cosmetics, medicines, vitamins or clothing—that seem absolutely essential to the arrival of tomorrow. But once inside the pharmacy, the clothing store or the shopping center, the bright lights mesmerize me. My eyes blur and I can't for the life of me remember what I have come for.

When I do buy something, I am left vaguely dissatisfied, certain that I could have gotten a better bargain somewhere else had I only looked a little longer. Depressed because I had to use my credit card again and this purchase will become just one more thing to do. Write the check. Buy the stamp. Walk to the post box. Mail the envelope.

The little, unfinished things do sometimes bother me. Dirty laundry is piled up in the closet. The bed is always unmade. In the bathroom, the ceiling is slowly cracking from some unspecified leak that I have failed to report to the superintendent.

UNDER A TEXAS STAR

UNDER A TEXAS STAR By Alison Bruce

Disguised as a boy, Marly joins a handsome Texas Ranger in the hunt for a con man and they must bring the fugitive to justice before giving up the masquerade and giving in to their passion.

When Marly Landers is fooled by con man Charlie Meese, she's determined to bring him to justice―even if it means dressing up as a boy and setting off across the plains to find him.

Texas Ranger Jase Strachan is also after Meese, for crimes committed in Texas. He joins forces with the young boy in a journey that takes them to Fortuna, where a murder interrupts their mission. Jase is duty bound to find the killer, no matter the cost.

Under the Texas stars, Marly and Jase are drawn together by circumstances beyond their control, yet fate plots to tear them apart. Will Marly finally get her man?

Under A Texas Star, by Alison Bruce, Imajin Books (www.imajinbooks.com)
Available at Amazon Kindle Store for only $3.99.
The trade paperback is available in paperback for $14.99
http://www.amazon.com/Under-a-Texas-Star-ebook/dp/B00501H6YM http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/under-a-texas-star-alison-bruce/1103948703

Excerpt

They travelled in easy stages and made the quiet town of Coldwater by evening. Not used to riding all day, Landers was practically dead on the hoof. Jase had to force him to stay up long enough to have something to eat.

He paid for a room over Coldwater's only saloon. The accommodations weren't fancy, but the place was clean. Like most rooms, it was supplied with a double bed. This one also had a cradle.

"I can use the mattress in the cradle," the boy said. "I'll put it on the floor."

Unbuttoning his shirt, Jase sighed. "Kid, you're exhausted. You need to rest or you're gonna slow me down tomorrow."

Landers paused for a moment, then reached for the mattress.

Jase cleared his throat. "Do you like crossing wills with me? Or don't you trust me?"

"I trust you, sir. I never meant to imply that I didn't trust you and I don't mean to be contrary. I'm very grateful for all your help and―"

"Never mind. Sleep where you like."

Jase readied for bed. Gun and holster were hung on the bed post. He draped his outer clothes over the bottom post, with his boots tucked within reach. When he was stripped to his socks and long underwear, he climbed into bed. All the while, Landers held his bedroll in one hand and the cradle mattress in the other.

When the candle was extinguished, sounds in the dark told Jase that Landers was getting ready for bed. The mattress shifted as the boy crawled between the covers, keeping to the edge of the bed.

"Night, Marly."

"Good night, sir."

"Friends call me Jase."

"Good night, Jase."

The bed, like many old spring beds, sagged in the middle. Once they were no longer capable of consciously keeping to their sides, they met in the middle. Instinctively, they took advantage of each other's body heat as the night grew colder. It wasn't the first time Jase had shared his bed with a fellow traveler and ended up back to back, sharing warmth.

He woke the next morning with his arm about Marly. The boy's head was on his shoulder and one hand rested on his chest near his heart. It felt so comfortable that it might have worried him―if he had not just discovered that Marly Landers was a girl.

About the Author

Alison Bruce has had many careers and writing has always been one of them. Copywriter, editor and graphic designer since 1992, Alison has also been a comic book store manager, small press publisher, webmaster and arithmetically challenged bookkeeper. She is the author of mystery, suspense and historical romance novels.

Website: http://www.alisonbruce.ca
Blog: http://alisonebruce.blogspot.ca
Twitter: https://twitter.com/alisonebruce
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alisonbruce.books