Authors: Rebecca Forster
He took a minute to admire himself in the side
mirror. He didn't like the way his dirty ice eyes
looked, so he admired the night sky. Nothing like
these black New Mexico nights. Stars as plentiful as rice at a weddin'. He tucked in his shirt so he
looked really good. Handsome.
Damn, life was fine.
Whistling softly, he moved on.
Pushing open the glass door, he stepped inside,
surprised at how vibrant everything seemed now
that he was straight. Michelle Pfeiffer looked like
she could just walk right off the cover of
People
and give him a little hug. The Slurpee machine's
neon blue and pink letters quivered as if overjoyed
to be colored pink and blue.
He ambled over to the register. Little Fourth of July flags were taped all over the place: flags next
to the Smokey Joe Hot Salami Sticks, flags wavin'
over the stale donuts under the Plexiglas counter
box, flags pokin' out of the almost-hidden condom
place on the shelf behind the counter.
Hot damn! Independence Day. He almost forgot. Good day for him. He did what he liked, when he
liked. There weren’t no one around to tell him anything. Only
his cowboy conscience, only his roamin' man code,
to keep him in line.
The smokes were neatly stacked on a metal thing
above the counter. He looked for the Camels. Left,
third row down. Filters one row lower than that.
It was the same at every Circle K. What a mind! He could remember everything.
He wandered toward the counter, laid his hands
atop it, and peered over; half expecting a pimply-
faced clerk to pop up like a stupid kid's toy. No
body. Just worn linoleum, a wad of gum stuck to
it turning black. Great. He could take a pack. Just
reach up and be on his way.
But he knew right from wrong. He wanted to
follow the rules and felt bad when he didn’t. It took
a while sometimes for that feeling to happen, but it always did.
Then he saw her.
She was fixing coffee at the big urn right next
to the two-for-ninety-nine-cent burgers in those
shiny gold and silver wrappers behind the glass,
under the red lights that never kept the damn
things hot. Whooeee, he loved those burgers.
The woman was another matter. He
could tell
what kind of woman she was right off: fat and
fussy. She was wearing a stupid little Uncle Sam
hat that didn't fit. The store manager probably
made her wear it, but he still hated it. She should
have some pride.
He hated her. She didn't even care he'd come
in. She was supposed to care.
Hop to it. A little serv
ice here.
With
that thought, the heat caught up with him.
Just exploded his head like a potato too long in
the fire. This time it wasn't funny. This time he felt sick. The lights were too bright. Too much
pain inside his head. Hand out, he found the door
and pushed it hard, his other hand held tight to
his temple.
The heat smacked him good when he walked out of the white light and frigid air of the store and back into the desert night. He pressed his
temple harder as he walked to the car and got in.
He checked himself in the rearview mirror. His
hair was a mess. He'd feel better if he looked bet
ter. Get the comb. He leaned over to the glove
compartment thinking his head would split wide
open, and laced his hands around the first thing
he found. It was cool and it was metal and he held
it to his head.
No comb. He needed a comb. Maybe that damn
clerk would notice the second time he walked into
her store and sell him some smokes and a comb.
Then he'd feel better.
He looked through the window of that Circle K
again. She was still making coffee. Ignoring him.
He needed a cigarette bad, he needed a comb,
and now he needed some aspirin. He hurt so bad
he could cry, and she was just standing there mak
ing coffee.
Inside again he turned right, and walked up to the woman who was putting the big lid on top of
the huge steel urn that would brew coffee for who
ever it was that might come to a godforsaken place
like this in the middle of the night. He walked
right up to her, and she felt him coming because
she turned around. Her eyes were hazel and real
clear and he saw himself in those eyes, reflected
back the way people saw him.
Hot damn, he was a good lookin' cowboy.
And when he smiled at his reflection, she smiled right
back. She didn't have a clue. They never did.
HERE’S MORE REBECCA FORSTER BOOKS!
BEFORE HER EYES
THE MENTOR
CHARACTER WITNESS
BEYOND MALICE
KEEPING COUNSEL
(USA Today Best Seller)
Visit Rebecca at :
http://www.rebeccaforster.com
And you don’t want to miss this one!
Read a sample of the Action/Adventure Thriller that everyone is talking about. Brainrush, by Richard Bard, is one of the highest rated Mystery & Thrillers on Amazon!
When terminally ill combat pilot Jake Bronson emerges from an MRI with extraordinary cognitive powers, everyone wants a piece of his talent--including Battista, one of the world's most dangerous terrorists. To save his love and her autistic child, Jake is thrust into a deadly chase that leads from the canals of Venice through Monte Carlo and finally to an ancient cavern in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan--where Jake discovers that his newfound talents carry a hidden price that threatens the entire human race.
"A terrifically entertaining thriller with three finely executed set pieces strung together with nice characterization. Especially successful is Bronson, an amiable, low-key tough guy able to rescue his princess, survive brutality, and retain a sense of humor."
- Publishers Weekly
"If this startling debut doesn't have you turning pages at breakneck speed, then you're not paying attention. Rich characters, crackling dialogue, and a climactic sequence that is stunning, enervating, and innovative all at once. Richard Bard is a voice to be reckoned with."
- Rebecca Forster,
USA Today
Best-Selling Author
"Brainrush explores the bonds of friendship while pushing the boundaries of science, creating a compelling, action-packed thriller with a climax that's a knock-out!"