About Taking Risks
Falling in love is always a risk and sometimes there is more than your heart at stake. In these four short stories, can loving, sometimes for the second time, be a risk worth taking? In “Tears of a Clown,” Christy has hidden behind a mask for a long time, but a chance at love may make her decide to stop hiding. In “Someday Soon,” Cady has known Jake forever, but suddenly the relationship takes a new turn because of a wild horse. “On Wings of Love,” finds that Olivia has traveled to an island to decide if she wants to marry the steady reliable man back home only to meet a man who is everything she never thought she wanted. Summer becomes a trip back in time when Joanna’s old flame comes back into town, and she finds the fire still burns brightly in “Sweet Music Man.”
Excerpt from “Someday Soon”
Cady hadn’t bothered to grab a coat and the sharp morning air bit through her flannel shirt. She shivered but didn’t stop till she reached the first corral behind the barn. She leaned on the fence and stared out at the mountains that rose to the east and west. Edged with early-morning light, they rose up stark and beautiful. But sometimes Cady felt hemmed in by them.
“Sometimes I wonder why I stayed out here,” she murmured to herself. “I should have left after Hank was gone. I wouldn’t have to deal with this.”
She was surprised to feel Jake’s hands rest lightly on her shoulders. He had followed her out without her realizing it.
“It would just be something else then. Maybe something a lot worse,” he said quietly. Then on a joking note added, “You ought to quit worrying. It will give you wrinkles.”
He tried to turn her around, but she shrugged him off. “Heaven forbid, I should do that. If anything gives me wrinkles, it will be having to put up with macho men.”
“Hey, why don’t you lighten up? Don’t take everything so seriously.”
Cady whirled about, and her eyes blazed up at him. She and Jake had always been at odds. Since high school, since before that. And he was pushing her to the limit now. “Well, I’m sorry, Jake, if you think I’m too serious, but I happen to take the job of raising my son very seriously. But then, I guess you wouldn’t know how it feels to be a parent—the responsibility, the fear of something happening, wondering all the time if what you’re doing is the right thing. I guess you wouldn’t know about sleepless nights and sore throats and trying to explain to your little boy why his daddy isn’t coming home anymore.”
She was on the verge of crying again, and if she argued one more minute with Jake, she would lose complete control. She didn’t mean for that to happen. Jake would never see her fall apart.
“I have work to do,” she said. “I’ll tell Charlie you were here.” Lifting her chin high, Cady went back to the house.
Jake watched her go. Then he climbed into his pickup and drove slowly back to his own ranch. Cady was right. He didn’t know about any of those things. He’d been a bachelor all his 37 years. Probably always would be. What no one knew was that he hadn’t wanted it that way. He’d wanted a wife, kids, even the sleepless nights, but Cady O’Neill had married Hank Scott, a freewheeling rodeo cowboy who had brought her more heartache and grief than any one woman deserved. Hank had been handsome and reckless…and Jake’s best friend. They’d been almost like brothers, but Jake had never quite forgiven Hank for stealing Cady away. And even six years after Hank’s wild ride on a Brahman bull had left Cady a widow, he was still standing between her and Jake.
About Lucy
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I’ve been making up stories for as long as I can remember, and I enjoyed revisiting these stories and bringing them up to date for today’s readers. I’m a long time member of Romance Writers of America® and my local chapter, Mid-Michigan RWA. I also write a monthly column, “The Pet Corner,” for a local paper, Mailmax, in support of animal care and rescue. Reading and writing romance is a passion, maybe because I’ve been married for nearly 43 years to my high school sweetheart. We live near Lake Michigan with our furry kids and have a grown son and daughter. We love to travel so I can find new settings for my stories.
Several years back, after the release of the first Star Trek film with the Star Trek: The Next Generation series cast, my avid devotion to all things Trek began to wane. Aside from the fact that the film was unquestionably dreadful in every respect and a total embarrassment to every living Trekker, I thought I was getting a bit long in the tooth to be known as “a Trekkie.” It was long past time to divest myself of my sizeable collection of Star Trek mugs, books, magazines, artwork, videotaped episodes, videotapes and DVDs of the theatrical films, a mouse pad, a phaser TV remote control, Hallmark Christmas ornaments, and a light switch plate.
Firstborn and his Little Brother informed me in no uncertain terms that neither of them, their wives, their progeny, or their dogs, wanted to inherit my Star Trek collection. They urged me to sell it on eBay post haste. I suspected their need for speed was fueled by their fear that I might meet an untimely end before unloading the collection, and then they would be tasked to do so following my demise.
I could hardly blame them, understanding mother that I am. I dreaded selling the collection myself. So, I did what I usually do under similar circumstances. I procrastinated, and procrastinated again, and again, and again.
I shouldn’t have. The second ST: TNG feature film was much better than the first. Actually, it was pretty good. It made me feel I was too hasty in abandoning the Trek universe. Guilt gripped me, along with its close friend misguided loyalty. I decided to hang onto the collection.
Wrong. The next ST: TNG film was so-so. The fourth and last was a creative and box-office disaster that all but slaughtered Paramount’s Star Trek cash cow. I packed my collection in a huge carton, determined to find it a new home. I would have done so, but I couldn’t seem to find the time to do that and write. Writing won out.
Not long afterward, a series of unforeseen obstacles hindered my resolve to end my Star Trek obsession and dispose of the collection that had become my personal albatross.
First, a cousin surprised me with the gift of a Star Trek collector plate depicting a scene from the “Amok Time” second season episode in which Kirk and Spock engaged in pon farr mortal combat. Drat. I had hoped to offer him my collection, but it seemed my cousin decided to rid himself of his collection, did not equivocate as I did, and he beat me to the draw. Double drat. That presented me with one more item to hoard. I hadn’t started, and I was already losing ground. Triple drat.
Next, I began watching the hilarious Big Bang Theory. Every other line of nerdy dialog seemed to contain the words Star Trek or Mr. Spock. How could I turn my back on Star Trek with that weekly reminder? The hysterically funny “Tiny Spock” episode really got to me because I adored Mr. Spock. (I adored Captain Kirk too. I never said I wasn’t fickle.) Big Bang Theory made me realize I wasn’t ready to part with my collection. Auctioning it off on eBay would have to wait a while longer.
Then I began following George Takei on Facebook. Oh, my-y-y. Here we go again.
Two new Star Trek films that reinvented the Trek universe burst onto the scene and captured my imagination. Rats! Hooked again.
When I was forced to declutter my home office not long ago, I found William Shatner’s autograph. It was more than a signature on a scrap of paper. The Shat touched that scrap of paper. It might even contain his younger self’s DNA. ::sigh, drool:: I was overwhelmed by nostalgia, and not a little lust for his younger self, so I boldly went ahead and framed it.
Recently, one of Macho Guy’s nephews—a young writer I mentor—thanked me for my support by giving me a Tribble. You know, one of those little fur balls from “The Trouble With Tribbles” episode. Yes, I have my very own Tribble, dang it. The Tribble joined The Shat’s framed autograph on a shelf in my office right above my desk.
That was the tipping point, the point at which I surrendered and acknowledged that I am powerless over the lure of Star Trek. Resistance is futile. Unless someone out there saves me from myself by taking my collection off my hands, I may never be free of Star Trek’s hold on me. It’s kind of like being in a Star Trek mafia. Once you’re in, they don’t let you out. Ever. That is, not until you join The Great Bird of the Galaxy among the stars.
I believe Michael Corleone said it best in Godfather III: “Just when I thought I was out…they pull me back in.”
You and me both, Michael. You and me both.
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