First Chapters & Giveaway with Rebecca Carey Lyles, author of Winds of Hope

A beautiful ex-felon who’s had her fill of men, a crotchety old ranch hand, and a busy rancher facing a difficult summer collide in this fast-paced novel set on a picturesque Wyoming guest ranch.

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Readers, Rebecca is hosting a giveaway of Winds of Hope! Leave a comment for a chance to win!

First Chapter

THE PRISON GATE CLANGED SHUT behind Kate Neilson, the sound as loud and harsh in her ears as coupling train cars. She’d heard that clatter of metal against metal hundreds of times during her five years of incarceration. Yet, with each slam her stomach lurched and her shoulders jerked. Try as she might to steel herself against the jarring crash, she couldn’t help but react like a startled bird.

For the first time, Kate stood on the visitor side of the barred gate that separated the reception area from the wide fluorescent-lit hallway leading to the cellblocks. She still had to walk out the front door of the building and through a gate in the fence that surrounded Patterson State Penitentiary. But she’d crossed the final interior barrier.

The female correctional officer who escorted her, Officer Arledge, paused and spoke into the radio clipped to her gray shirt, notifying the control desk of their location. Kate clutched the plastic sack that held the meager possessions she’d accumulated during her time at Patterson and took a steadying breath. The room smelled vaguely familiar.

Floor wax. That’s what it was. The smooth surface at her feet was so highly polished it reflected the ceiling lights. On the other side of the bars, the gray concrete floors were mopped by inmates but never waxed.

She could have turned for one last glimpse through the gate. After all, the building housed the culture that had transformed her from a lost-and-lonely Pittsburgh street tramp into a college graduate with a marketing degree. Instead, she focused on the double glass doors at the other end of the room, doors that led to freedom and to her future.

Unlike the muted light that filtered from the glass blocks embedded in her cell wall, sunshine streamed through the doors, illuminating columns of dust motes. But as much as she itched to dart across the room and charge outside, she had one more hurdle to clear. Between her and liberty stood a reception desk staffed by two male COs seated before computer monitors.

She had a side view of the men. Like the female officer, they wore light gray shirts, dark gray pants and black duty belts. Loops and pouches attached to the belts held flashlights, pepper spray, eye protection, handcuffs, handcuff keys and more—but no guns. Kate couldn’t see their feet, but she’d never seen COs wear anything but black work boots identical to what the officer beside her had on her feet.

Arledge motioned her toward the desk. “The last phase of your checkout is here.”

Earlier that morning, just before she left her unit, Kate had been strip-searched. She’d endured the humiliating contraband hunt on more occasions than she cared to remember, and she hoped to never again hear, “Strip, Neilson.” But right now, she would comply with everything the COs asked of her—whatever it took to walk out those doors today.

At the desk, Arledge stated Kate’s last name and inmate number. One of the men said, “I already have your file pulled up, Ms. Neilson.”

Kate smiled for the first time since she’d started the nerve-racking trek from the far side of the massive compound. Whether intentional or not, he’d called her Ms. Neilson, not just Neilson or her number.

The printer behind the man whirred to life and spit out two sheets of paper, one after the other. He pulled them from the tray. “We have two final forms for you to sign.” Sliding one of the papers onto the counter, he said, “This one says we returned all the items you had with you when you were admitted.”

Kate pressed her lips together. Admitted suggested she’d been checked into a hospital for short-term care, not into a prison for five mind-numbing years of incarceration. She kept her thoughts to herself and placed the bag she’d carried across the complex on the counter.

The other officer produced a sealed plastic pouch from beneath the desk. The clear pocket on the front had also been sealed. Inside was the card Kate filled out when she first entered the facility. He pulled scissors from a drawer, cut the bag and the pocket open, and shook out the contents.

A lacy red thong landed on top of the pile. The corner of his mouth twitched and he glanced at the other male officer before giving her instructions. “Check the contents against the card. If everything is there, sign the form.” He handed her a pen.

Kate ignored his smirk and pushed aside the underwear, along with the skimpy tank top and threadbare cutoff shorts she’d been wearing when she was arrested. The clothing still held a hint of the perfume she favored back then. She checked off the items. No bra was listed because she hadn’t worn one that night—she never wore one when she worked the streets.

The collection was small. She was glad to see her watch, a birthday gift from her Great-Aunt Mary, but the screen was blank. Probably needed a new battery. She picked up her driver’s license, saw that it had expired, and made a mental note to stop by the DMV to pick up a manual.

She would have to take the driver’s test again to get a valid license so she could drive to Wyoming. Her stomach jumped again, but this was a happy jolt because she’d been accepted for a marketing internship at a guest ranch. Her girlhood dream of visiting a Wyoming ranch was about to come true.

Worn black sandals, a comb, lip gloss, two condoms and a mascara tube were the only other items on the counter. The money she’d had in her pocket had been deposited into her commissary account. Kate checked the final box. “Everything’s here.” She took a moment to read the form before she signed it.

“Place your possessions in the bag,” Arledge said, “and take it to the restroom over there. After you change into street clothes, return the bag, shoes, socks and uniform here. You may keep the underwear.”

Kate started to go, but Arledge stopped her. “Leave your ID.”

Kate pulled the lanyard over her head and around her long hair. The ID tag dangling from the end weighed no more than a credit card, yet she felt as though a boulder lifted from her shoulders. To rid herself of prison ID meant she really was on her way out of Patterson.

The restroom looked nothing like the other bathrooms in the prison and smelled a whole lot better. Kate was about to enter a stall, when she glimpsed herself in the bright, clean mirror. Caught off-guard, she stopped and stared. She hadn’t seen a clear reflection in years. The scuffed stainless-steel rectangles that served as mirrors in the inmate bathrooms blurred every image.

She squinted. So that’s what prison food does to a person. She appeared older and heavier, her dark hair and dark eyes had dulled, and her face was… She grimaced. Pasty, puffy, haggard…guarded.

Sighing, she turned away. Time to make some changes. She’d walked the track around the yard almost every day of her incarceration. But apparently fifteen minutes twice a day wasn’t enough exercise or sunshine.

Kate tossed the thong into the trash receptacle, slipped off the shoes, socks and elastic-waist orange pants, and pulled the orange shirt over her head. She folded the clothes and set them aside. Never, never again would she wear orange. She pulled on the tank top and then the shorts, which she managed to zip and button only after she sucked in her stomach.

Stepping into the sandals, she thanked God she hadn’t been released in winter. Her clothes barely covered her. She was also grateful she didn’t have to walk out of prison braless and embarrass Aunt Mary. Even so, she would dump the prison undergarments the moment she unboxed her clothes, which were stored in her aunt’s attic, last she knew. And she’d drop the extra weight. In the meantime, she hoped she’d fit into at least a few things.

Kate fastened the watch onto her wrist and stuffed the other items into her skintight pockets before she returned to the reception desk. After years of wearing loose prison uniforms, she felt like a sausage in the close-fitting clothes. Averting her gaze from the male officers’ appreciative glances, she laid the bag and prison garb on the counter. “Anything else?”

The CO with the paperwork handed her a check for her commissary balance and had her sign a form stating that the prison returned the correct amount to her.

Kate thanked him, folded the check and shoved it into a back pocket. The digital clock on the wall behind the reception desk flashed eight-eleven in large red numerals. One of Aunt Mary’s friends from church, Gertie Mae Spaulding, was driving her to the prison. They’d been advised to arrive by eight-thirty.

“I’ll accompany you to the entrance,” Arledge said. She turned to the men. “Please let the front gate know we’re coming.”

The two gave each other side glances, as if they didn’t care to take orders from a woman. Kate had seen similar standoffs between other female COs and the male COs who outnumbered them two to one. She glanced at the clock and then back at Arledge.

The woman eyed the men until one of them reached for the phone. Apparently satisfied he’d do what she asked, she strode toward the glass doors, her sturdy body outlined by sunshine. She opened one and motioned Kate through.

The dazzling sunlight blinded Kate. She sneezed and nearly ran into Officer Strunk, an obnoxious man the women in her unit had nicknamed “Skunk” his first day on the job.

Strunk inspected her from head to toe and up again. “So, they’re letting you out, Neilson.” With an arrogant rise of his eyebrows, he added, “Going back to your old occupation?”

She didn’t respond.

“I’ll give you a month.” He sneered. “By then you’ll be working the streets again, ‘cause we all know you can’t make it in the real world. Hill District, right?”

Kate, who was well-practiced at maintaining a deadpan demeanor, hoped he couldn’t see her inward cringe.

Arledge glared at him. “One of these days…” Her voice was tinged with disgust. “That mouth of yours will get you fired, Strunk.”

He pushed past them into the lobby.

Arledge motioned with her chin. “This way.”

Together, they walked toward the wide front gate. As far as Kate knew, it was one of six gates in the sixteen-foot-high chain-link barrier that surrounded the compound. Miles of razor wire topped the fence all the way around the complex.

She shivered, partly from the cool air and partly from knowing the metal fence was wired with an electric current powerful enough to kill a person with one zap. She hugged her bag against her ribs. The spring morning was warm but not warm enough for the way she was dressed.

“This should be one of the best days of your life,” Arledge said. “Forget Strunk. He’s a jerk destined for self-destruction.” She flipped a backhanded wave at the building.

“But you?” She looked at Kate. “You followed the rules, you completed the twelve-step recovery program, you attended chapel services and you were in the computer room almost every day doing classwork. Plus, you helped the other girls with their studies.” She smiled. “I could tell you were trying to better yourself, and I wish you the best.”

Kate studied the CO’s eyes, seeing her in a new light. She’d had no idea the woman was observing her as well as guarding her. “I appreciate how you always treated us with respect,” Kate said, “like we’re human.”

The officer tilted her head. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“It’s none of my business, but I’m curious to know where you’re going from here.”

Kate shrugged. Her plans were no secret. “I just completed a marketing degree online, but I still need to do a three-month internship, which will be at a Wyoming guest ranch called the Whispering Pines. I’ll stay in Pittsburgh with my aunt for a few weeks and then drive west for the ranch’s summer guest season.”

Arledge’s face brightened. “Congratulations, but…” Her brow furrowed. “Considering your circumstances, how was that approved?”

“Chaplain Sam says it was a God thing. The application form didn’t have a section for arrest history and my advisor must not have mentioned my background. Or maybe she did, and the rancher hired me anyway.”

“I bet it’s pretty there.”

Kate smiled. She couldn’t help herself. “If it’s anything like the pictures in their brochure, it’s a beautiful ranch.” She’d stared at the tiny pictures for hours, trying to imagine what it would be like to live in the mountains and wake up to such gorgeous scenery every morning.

They stopped at the brown guardhouse that sat just inside the fence. The red flowerbox beneath the austere building’s window ledge looked to Kate like an afterthought meant to provide visitors with a positive first-impression of the prison. Purple and yellow pansies, their colorful faces lifted to the sun, were surrounded by a mix of white and lavender sweet alyssum. Some of the tiny blossoms draped over the side of the box.

Arledge turned to her. “The best of luck to you. Just remember, focus on your future, not your past.”

“Thank you.” Kate thought of Chaplain Sam’s final words to her. Live in the light, Kate. Bury the past and live in the light.

The CO inside the guard house opened the window. “Good morning.”

Arledge handed him Kate’s ID tag. He made a notation on a chart before scanning the tag’s information into a computer and depositing it in a drawer.

Kate assumed the scanner read her number as well as the awful picture that reflected how frightened and forlorn she’d felt the day it was taken. But that was old news. This was a new day and a new life.

Praying no last-minute glitches would prevent her release, she lowered the sack and held it with both hands. The bag was heavy. In addition to her toiletries, it contained her Bible plus several inspirational books Aunt Mary had sent through prison channels.

A breeze fluttered the flowers and goose-bumped Kate’s arms. She breathed in the fragrant aroma. Pansies’ happy faces always made her smile and she loved the smell of alyssum. But these flowers seemed out of place in the prison. In fact, they were the first flowers she’d seen at Patterson. The administration probably thought the inmates would smoke the leaves or stick them up their noses if they were accessible in the exercise yard.

Even so, she’d had flowers in her life. Kate smiled. Along with other minimum-security inmates, she had escaped Patterson’s confines twice a week during the growing season to work at a community garden in the heart of Pittsburgh. Running soil through her fingers, planting seeds and pulling weeds calmed her spirit and reminded her that life went on outside prison walls.

The experience wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Her orange-suited crew was routinely ridiculed by passersby, who called them names and spit at them. Some people even threw rocks. The abuse traumatized several of the inmates, who requested different work assignments.

But Kate had endured the same and worse when she worked the streets. For her, the few hours of normalcy, along with the joy of tending plants and working alongside volunteers who appreciated their help made it worth chancing an assault, verbal or otherwise.

The guard turned from the computer. “You’re good to go.” A buzzer sounded, and the pedestrian gate adjacent to the driveway gate slowly swung open.

“This is where Patterson State Penitentiary releases you back to the world,” Arledge said. “Like I said, move forward with your life, not backward.”

Kate responded with a solemn nod. “I will remember your words.”

The officer pivoted and Kate hurried through the open gate. Another buzz, and it closed quietly behind her, unlike the noisy gates inside the facility. She glanced at the guard tower above her head. Although she couldn’t see into the darkened windows, she knew at least one CO scrutinized her every move. Soon, she’d no longer be under twenty-four-seven surveillance.

A small car entered the large, crowded parking lot and slowly drove her direction. Was it Aunt Mary and Gertie Mae? Kate clasped her bag of books and toiletries close again. What was this jitter in her stomach? Excitement to finally be released? Anticipation to see her sweet aunt again? Or, was it fear of the future? She’d blown it so many times. Would she continue to mess up?

She thought again of Chaplain Sam, whose steady, wise counsel she would miss. “Once you belong to Christ,” he’d said more than once in chapel, “it’s not about what you can or can’t do. It’s what he can do in you and through you.”

Sucking in a lungful of fresh air, she raised her face to the sun. Like the flowers that depended on God for sunshine and rain, she needed him now more than ever. Without him, she would wither into the addicted, delinquent person she was when she entered Patterson five years ago. “You know how weak I am, God,” she whispered, “and how many times I’ve stumbled and fallen. Only you can keep me on my feet and on the right path.”

A car horn honked.

Kate blinked and glanced around.

“Katy girl, over here, over here!”

She pivoted.

Her great-aunt was standing between cars in the middle of the lot, waving an arm high above her head.

No longer caring what the guards might think, Kate ran toward her aunt, her possessions tight against her chest. When she reached the car, she dropped the bag and hugged her aunt for the first time in years. Although Aunt Mary had been a frequent visitor, prison rules prohibited physical contact between inmates and visitors.

Kate held her fragile, precious aunt close. “I’m so happy to see you again, Aunt Mary.” As always, her elderly relative, her only relative, smelled of wintergreen breath mints. She had “freshened her breath” with the pink Canada kind as long as Kate could remember.

“Katy, my sweet Katy!” Aunt Mary’s sea-green eyes sparkled in the sunshine. She kissed Kate’s cheek. “I’m so happy I can take you home today, sweetie. I hated all those times I visited and had to leave you behind. But Jesus answered my prayers, and today you’re free for good.”

“That’s right.” Kate reached for her bag. “I did my full time. No more Patterson, no parole, no parole officers.” Only one caveat hung over her head. She was a two-time serious offender. Thanks to the “three strikes, you’re out” law, one more arrest could mean she’d spend the remainder of her life behind bars.

But that wasn’t going to happen, and it certainly wasn’t something to think about right now. She opened the back door to put her things inside. Leaning in, she greeted Gertie Mae. “Thank you for coming to pick me up, Gertie. I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” Gertie grinned. “I’d say, ‘anytime,’ but I’d rather not come here again, if you know what I mean.”

Kate nodded and stepped around the door to help her aunt sit in the front seat and find her seatbelt. “I’m impressed you stood without your walker, Aunt Mary.” Her aunt had had multiple sclerosis for years and was becoming more and more dependent on her walker and sometimes a wheelchair.

“I was too anxious to see you to bother with the walker. Besides, I had the door to hang onto.” She looked Kate up and down.

Before her aunt could comment on the way she was dressed, Kate said, “I was super excited to see you, too.” She closed the door and climbed into the backseat, pushing her bag and the folded walker to the other side. “Any chance we can stop by the DMV, Gertie? I need to pick up a driver’s manual to study, so I can renew my driver’s license.”

Gertie backed out of the parking slot. “Sure, be glad to.”

“First…” Mary touched Gertie’s shoulder. “Let’s stop by a department store to get Kate some warmer clothing.”

“I have clothes at your house, Aunt Mary. I’ll change when we—”

“The shopping trip is my treat, Katy dear.” Mary peered around the headrest, waggling her finger. “I felt those goose bumps on your arms. We need to celebrate this wonderful occasion with a nice outfit you can wear to brunch. Gertie and I already picked the place. Right, Gert?”

Gertie glanced at Kate in the mirror. “You’ll love it. They make the best omelets in town.”

“No matter what they cook,” Kate said, “I guarantee it’ll be better than prison food.” She twisted for one last glimpse of the penitentiary, surprised by the mix of emotions that flooded her chest.

Leaving the institution that had been her home for the past five years was a more nostalgic experience than she could have ever imagined. Not only was she leaving three squares and a cot behind, she’d left a circle of friends and a rigid routine. The security of knowing what tomorrow held—and the next day and the next—was something she hadn’t had when she lived on the streets.

The car bumped out of the parking lot and onto the highway. She turned to face the front window. She would have Aunt Mary’s prayers and support, like always, but the fact was, she was on her own again. Could she handle life on the outside? Or was Strunk right?

Remember to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Winds of Hope!

~~~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

Rebecca Carey Lyles grew up in Wyoming, the setting for her Kate Neilson novels. She currently lives in Idaho, where she serves as an editor and as a mentor for aspiring authors. She’s also written two Colorado-based nonfiction books, “It’s a God Thing!” and “On a Wing and a Prayer,” and compiled a short-story collection with other Idaho authors titled “Passageways.” Her work-in-progress, a novel, features a heroine in the clutches of a controlling cult. Because she and her husband, Steve, both love stories, whether fact or fiction, the two of them host a podcast called “Let Me Tell You a Story.” (beckylyles.com/podcast)

You can visit Rebecca at the following locations.

http://www.beckylyles.com – Where you can sign up for Becky’s rare-and-random newsletter to receive a free ebook copy of Passageways, an eclectic collection of sixteen short stories.

Facebook author page: Rebecca Carey Lyles

Twitter: @BeckyLyles

Contact: beckylyles@beckylyles.com

Leave your comment below, readers! 

 

 

First Chapters with Ane Mulligan, author of When the Bough Breaks

Her dream job has a Catch 22—and time's running out

Rookie lobbyist Sienna O'Shea is determined to make a name for herself in New York's capitol city and use that influence to gain easier access to her birth records. For years she's searched for her birth mother, but when she's handed her first assignment—to lobby support for the permanent sealing of all adoption records—her worlds collide. Swept up into the intrigue of backroom politics, falling in love was not on Sienna's agenda, but the candidate for Lt. Governor runs a formidable campaign to make her his first lady. When an investigative reporter discovers foreign money infiltrating political campaigns, the trail leads to Sienna's inner circle.

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CHAPTER 1

Sienna O’Shea slammed the door of her red Volkswagen Beetle, trying not to slip on the icy patches in the parking lot. She hurried to the elevator for the Legislative Office Building and her dream job in New York’s capitol. New York! Her heart kicked up its heels and she could hardly believe she’d made it. Her second day on the job and already she’d been assigned to testify before New York’s Senate Judicial Committee. She might be a rooky at lobbying, but she’d show them.

It took her half the night to work up her presentation, praying the whole time it would be good enough. It should be, her old friend Matt Dressler gave her the background information. If it was, she could leverage her position as team newbie into a force to be reckoned with—someone they’d be proud of. And for once, it would be because of something she did, not who she was.

She pushed the button and waited, catching her breath that came out in little puffs of fog in the frigid air. A long-legged man in a dark grey overcoat approached from between two cars and stopped beside her. He tipped his hat.

A courteous New Yorker? Wow. And a handsome one. Double wow.

The doors opened and they both entered the elevator. He stood in front of the numbered panel, blocking it. She’d been told the Senate Hearing room was on the third floor. Since he didn’t move...

“Third floor, please.”

He grinned and punched the button for the first floor. Sienna blinked and stepped back. So much for courteous, that was downright uncivil. Her heartbeat accelerated and she forced herself not to look at him. He could be a pervert. Good looking or not, the dude better not try anything.

She slipped her hand into her coat pocket and wrapped her fingers around the cold cylinder of mace. The same one she’d laughed at when Mom made her promise three times to carry it in her pocket. Well, she wasn’t laughing now. If he made a move toward her, she wasn’t going down with a whimper. 

As the elevator slid downward and he didn’t make any attempt to touch her, her fingers relaxed their grip on the mace. He didn’t dress like a mugger. The cut and quality of his overcoat whispered money. Still, why had he sent the elevator to the first floor instead of the third? Maybe she should say something. But what do you say to a potential assailant? She chewed her lip, trying to think of something.

“I said three ... please.”

He grinned but didn’t move. Her hand tightened on the mace.

“All the other floors go to different levels of the parking deck.” He removed his hat and brushed his fingers along its rim. “The only entrance to the LOB is from the first level.”

Oh.

Did this elevator have an emergency exit for the terminally embarrassed? Not wanting to encourage him, she averted her eyes. Then again ... Keeping her head down, she peeked through her eyelashes. He exuded charm. And he hadn’t made an improper advance. Was there any way for this to be salvaged?

A slight bounce alerted her to the elevator’s impending stop. The doors slid open to reveal a brightly lit corridor from which other passageways branched off. Shops, restaurants, banks and offices lined the hallways. Voices, like an indecipherable hum, reverberated off the marble walls. People carrying briefcases and armloads of files scurried past, leaving a trail of perfume and aftershave in their wake. Her nose twitched. The scene gave her a sense of continuity— historic walls juxtaposed against energetic youth. Trying not to gape, she looked up at the man beside her.

“It’s like a city.”

“We’re underground. You can access the entire Capitol campus from down here. Around this wall and straight ahead is the Senate Office building, down that hall to your left, the Assembly Offices. You can go to the school board and the Capitol too, all without stepping outside which is a blessing in winter.” He took her elbow and pulled her closer so four men could enter the elevator.

“From here, if you turn right, you’ll see the Senate elevator.” He pointed down the hall. “Take it to the third floor and follow the signs to the Judiciary Hearing Room.”

“Third floor, uh, thank you.” How’d he know that was where she was going? Her elbow still tingled from his touch.

He raised one eyebrow and smiled at her. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He guided her along, weaving in and out of the crowd with expertise. He stopped in front of a bank of doors. “Here you go.” His eyes crinkled with good humor. “It’s all yours from here.”

The timbre of his deep voice resonated in her ear. “Thank you …” She suddenly realized she didn’t know his name.

“Reese.” He slipped his card into her jacket’s waist pocket. Her skin beneath the material tingled where his fingers grazed. “Reese Van Daal.” With the accent on Daal, it sounded like doll. He sure was that. Sun-streaked blond hair—natural, no hairdresser could match that subtle coloring—and ice blue eyes.

“Sienna O’Shea. I’m sorry … I don’t have any cards yet. New job” Brilliant conversation, O’Shea—quit blathering. “I really do appreciate the guide. No telling how long I would have wandered.” If not for him, she’d have wandered lost in the vast underground maze of Albany’s capitol and been even later. What a way to make an impression.

With his head slightly cocked, he nodded. “The pleasure was distinctly mine.” He didn’t move but stared into her eyes as if memorizing her. Then he turned and walked away.

Wait! 

She clamped her hand over her mouth. Did she say that out loud? When he didn’t turn around, she breathed a sigh of relief. What a hunk of gorgeous, rugged—

“Are you coming, Miss?”

“What?” Sienna whirled around. A withered man the color of charcoal sat on a stool, holding the elevator door for her.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” She stepped inside. “Three, please.”

He reached out and pulled the iron grate shut with a clank. The outer doors closed in silence. She’d never seen an elevator operator before. It reminded her of an old late night movie her mom loved. What an amazing place.

A moment later she stood outside the Judiciary Hearing Room. She gave the guard her name, and after receiving her clearance, took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping inside.

The floor slanted downward like a theatre, each row of seats lower than the previous one. Her gaze progressed to the front of the room where a huge mahogany conference table stood, a bouquet of microphones clustered at its center. A row of journalists squatted on the floor in front of the table. She didn’t know the media would be here. Her stomach flip-flopped, sending waves of anxiety crashing on the shore of assurance. Lobbying she knew. Testifying before a judicial committee? No way—amicus curiae she was not.   

A heavyset woman sat at the table, testifying. Her strident alto, proclaiming her group’s admiration of the judge, punctuated the rustle of papers and whispers from the assembled audience. A dais rose in front of the table. Behind the modesty rail, she could see a dozen high-backed, leather chairs—filled with senators. Only one or two of the senators paid attention to the woman speaking. The rest talked among themselves. Sienna shrank back and gulped. This must be what a prisoner felt as he left his death-row cell for his execution. Sure she’d lobbied, but that was one-on-one. This was onstage. Had they called her name yet? If so, what now? Her glance swept the room. CFC’s assistant, Christine, who would be showing her around, should be there. When Sienna spotted her, Christine was waving and motioned over her soccer-ball belly to the chair next to her.

She whispered, “Where have you been?”

Sienna lowered the theatre-style seat and dropped into it, setting her briefcase at her feet. “Caught in traffic. Lost. Don’t ask. Have they called me yet?”

“No, but you’re up in a few minutes.”

Hardly time to catch her breath. “I hope—What are they handing out?”

Behind the senators on the dais, an aide distributed what looked like an entire ream of paper to each senator. An intern pushing a trolley followed behind.

“That’s the next person’s testimonial.”

Sienna clutched the arms of her chair. Her eyes darted to Christine. “I don’t have that much.” The volume of her voice attracted attention. She slunk down in her chair and whispered, “I didn’t know I’d need anything like that. Christine, mine’s only a single page.”

She wanted to throw up. Her first day on the job as legislative affairs director for CFC and she was going to bomb. Cheese grits. Better to run. She started to rise.

Christine pulled her back down. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. Just read your paper, then get up and leave. Don’t give them any time to ask questions, unless you’re prepared to answer.”

“Answer them? No way.” She’d take the get-up-and-leave option. “I don’t know much about this issue, but I did unearth something I hope will blow the lid off the appointment. A good friend of mine, Matt Dressler, is an investigative reporter. It’s really his research and story. He emailed it to me last night. All I did was rework it to fit our needs. Of course, it took me most of the night.” Sienna leaned down and pulled a paper from her briefcase. “Look.”

Christine read the paper, her eyes growing wider with each line. “You’re sure of this?” She handed it back.

The man in front of them turned and scowled. Sienna leaned closer to her assistant and lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s what I asked Matt. He said he had all the proof anyone would need—bank records, corporate reports, audits, you name it. I trust his work a hundred percent, and I’ve cited all the references on the back.”

“This is amazing, Sienna. You don’t need more than this one page.” A smug grin stretched across her lips. “Glen’s going to be so glad he hired you.”

“I was terrified I’d be too late to testify and he’d fire me.”

“Not after this.” Christine sat up straight. “Watch now. You should be up next.”

The clerk stood. “Conservative Family Coalition representative, please.”

Sienna walked to the standing microphone in the aisle. “I’m Sienna O’Shea.” Her voice trembled. She swallowed and tried again, handing her testimonial folder to the clerk. “I represent the New York CFC.”

The uniformed man looked at the measly offering then back at Sienna. When she nodded once, he shook his head and walked up the steps of the dais. Clutching her copy, Sienna took her seat at the table.

With her heart hammering in her ears, she watched the senators as the clerk handed them her paper. They reached up for more, but when the clerk shook his head, each senator, one after the other, glanced at Sienna, then at the printed testimony. Nervous as she was, she almost giggled. Her single page caught the attention of everyone, and they waited for her to speak.

Something tapped against her chair leg and persisted, sending vibrations up her back. Sienna turned. Directly behind her, and drilling her with a hateful stare, sat Judge Leone. Coal black hair pulled tight against her scalp gave the judge a pinched look. Tortoiseshell glasses perched on an eagle-beak nose. Sienna blinked and turned back. I’m glad she’s not my mother. The tapping continued. How rude. If she thought it would distract Sienna, she had another think coming. She bit the inside of her lip to stop the smirk.

“Please go ahead, Ms. O’Shea,” the chairman said.

Sienna took a deep breath and peered over the microphones. Twelve pairs of eyes were trained on her. She swallowed again and hoped her voice wouldn’t crack. “Mr. Chairman, members of the Senate, I won’t bore you with statistics on the number of families affected by addiction to gambling, or its negative effects on communities. Rather, I’m here to show why Judge Leone should not be appointed to the Supreme Court. Before moving to New York, she used her position on the Ninth Circuit Court to further her own agenda and personal financial gain.” The tapping increased. Sienna cleared her throat and lobbed her bomb.

“In the report before you, you will see that Judge Leone is part owner in a casino. The majority shareholder is a brother-in-law—her sister’s husband to be exact.” The stuttering beat against her chair faltered. “The judge presided over numerous cases involving its owners, rendering each verdict in favor of the casino.”

The chairman held up her testimony in a clenched hand. “Can you document this?”

Sienna laced her fingers together on the table. “Yes, sir. The Atlanta Daily Register published a story on gambling casinos three months ago. The casino in question was exposed in the article. Since then, the judge’s ownership has come to light. The implicating documents are listed on the back of the report you hold and are of public record. The New York Conservative Family Coalition recommends Judge Leone not be appointed to the New York Court of Appeals.”

The tapping stopped abruptly as Sienna stood. The judge stood at the same time, blocking her exit. Nose to nose with her, Judge Leone opened her mouth to say something when a reporter shoved a microphone in front of her. She glared at the man and slapped his hand away, then turned and stalked out of the hearing room. Sienna bit back a laugh as the media raced out after the judge, and the room erupted in pandemonium. The chairman banged his gavel and called for a recess.

Her laughter died when the remaining media started to close in on her. Suddenly, Christine broke through the crowd.

“Keep down while I distract them.” She shoved Sienna’s briefcase into her arms, covering her face. Pointing to the back of the room, she yelled, “There goes O’Shea!”

The reporters sped up the aisle.

Christine grabbed her elbow. “Come on. Follow me.” She headed toward one side of the room. As she stopped in front of the wood-paneled wall, something in the balcony caught Sienna’s eye.

Reese Van Daal leaned against the railing, talking into his cell phone and smiled down at her. He touched a finger to his brow in salute, then turned and disappeared from sight as Christine pulled Sienna through a doorway.

~~

"Ooh, I do so love a good intrigue!" said one of the stepsisters in the movie, Ever After. 

Well, I agree! Ane's story is cooking up to be a good one you won't want to miss. In fact, she's offering a FREE BOOK to one commenter. So, leave a comment for a chance to win!

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MORE ABOUT ANE MULLIGAN and HER BOOKS

Ane Mulligan writes Southern-fried fiction served with a tall, sweet iced tea. She firmly believes coffee and chocolate are two of the four major food groups. An award-winning and multi-published novelist and playwright, Ane is the executive director of Players Guild@Sugar Hill, a community theater and a contributor to Novel Rocket. She resides in Sugar Hill, GA, with her artist husband and a dog of Biblical proportion. You can find Ane on her website or her Amazonauthor page.

 

A peek at Ane's titles

Remember to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of When the Bough Breaks!