by Lynn Donovan
Release Date: 05/01/13
Summary from Goodreads:
Zeke Clay is down on his luck. He’s lost everything—an apartment, an education, a girlfriend, his job....
When a mysterious letter comes from a law firm in Colorado, he decides things just might be looking up. Now he stands to inherit a fortune, but it comes with a price. He must break a family curse and restore true love. What does he know about breaking a curse? And who is this Great Uncle Luther Clayton, who claims Zeke is the one? Can he piece together the clues left by his dearly departed?
Who can he trust? The Apache Indian attorney? Her great nephew? The leather-clad, Harley riding Pastor? Least of all, himself?
What about the Ghosts?
...And why does his three-year-old tattoo bleed every time he gets near the wishing well?
Available from:
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Excerpt
His rebuilt, primer-grey '67 Impala provided escape. Dark streams of exhaust marked his route as he aimlessly drove from their west-side post-Vietnam era residential community toward downtown Austin. As he neared the North UT campus, he found where his destiny had led him.
A tattoo shop. Skin2skin.
Between the shot and the next store front, a homeless man pushed himself up, out of a dirty alcove, and staggered past the tattoo shop's window sign. It indicated the shop opened at ten. Zeke parallel parked at the curb. Tightness grabbed at his chest. God, how does a man like that stay alive? A shiver slithered down his spine. What would have happened to Zeke, if Evan hadn't taken him in? An eleven-year-old kid on the streets like that. He shook his head. His knuckles faded to white as he gripped the steering wheel. Maybe Evan meant it when he called him son? He had helped Zeke rebuild this car. They were family--blood family.
He looked down at the chrome eight-ball stick shift. It wasn't so bad at his house. At least it was a roof over his head, regular meals on the table. Unlike this guy.
Zeke tore his eyes from the tramp when a scarecrow-framed man with a stringy beard, obviously the shop owner, unlocked the metal overhead gate. After a moment of fumbling with a large ring of keys, he pushed the glass door open.
Zeke locked his car and followed the man into the shop.
"Mornin'." The man glanced over his should, a lit cigarette in his mouth.
"Mornin'." Zeke shoved his fingers into his jean pockets. His eyes roved over the tattoo graphics pinned up on the walls.
"Name's Dan. I'll be right with ya." He made a circular sweep of the store, turning on lights, starting a coffee pot, and finally returning to the sales counter at the front.
Sweat formed on Zeke's brow and he swiped it away. This was something he wanted -- needed to do, so why was he nervous?
"Now," Dan panted as he lit another cigarette. "How can I help ya, kid?"
"I want a tattoo." Zeke nodded once.
"Okay..." The guy squinted one eye as smoke wafted past his fluttering eyelash. "How old are ya, kid?"
"I'm eighteen." Zeke lowered his eyes to the glass cabinet, not really seeing anything.
"Huh, I'll need proof. Gotta driver's license?" The man grinned. "So long as it ain't a fake one." He snorted a chuckle. The cigarette and smoke bounced with his jocularity. "You know what you want done?"
"Not really..." Zeke scanned the prints again.
"Is there something in particular you're looking for, kid?" The man tapped the glass with a thick, yellow, but neatly manicured, index finger.
"I'm not sure..." Zeke pointed at a cross and crown of thorns. "I like the spiritual feel of that one."
The man yanked the print off the thumb tack and pulled several pages out of the plastic sleeve. Behind it were variations of the first. One caught Zeke's eye.
A tattoo shop. Skin2skin.
Between the shot and the next store front, a homeless man pushed himself up, out of a dirty alcove, and staggered past the tattoo shop's window sign. It indicated the shop opened at ten. Zeke parallel parked at the curb. Tightness grabbed at his chest. God, how does a man like that stay alive? A shiver slithered down his spine. What would have happened to Zeke, if Evan hadn't taken him in? An eleven-year-old kid on the streets like that. He shook his head. His knuckles faded to white as he gripped the steering wheel. Maybe Evan meant it when he called him son? He had helped Zeke rebuild this car. They were family--blood family.
He looked down at the chrome eight-ball stick shift. It wasn't so bad at his house. At least it was a roof over his head, regular meals on the table. Unlike this guy.
Zeke tore his eyes from the tramp when a scarecrow-framed man with a stringy beard, obviously the shop owner, unlocked the metal overhead gate. After a moment of fumbling with a large ring of keys, he pushed the glass door open.
Zeke locked his car and followed the man into the shop.
"Mornin'." The man glanced over his should, a lit cigarette in his mouth.
"Mornin'." Zeke shoved his fingers into his jean pockets. His eyes roved over the tattoo graphics pinned up on the walls.
"Name's Dan. I'll be right with ya." He made a circular sweep of the store, turning on lights, starting a coffee pot, and finally returning to the sales counter at the front.
Sweat formed on Zeke's brow and he swiped it away. This was something he wanted -- needed to do, so why was he nervous?
"Now," Dan panted as he lit another cigarette. "How can I help ya, kid?"
"I want a tattoo." Zeke nodded once.
"Okay..." The guy squinted one eye as smoke wafted past his fluttering eyelash. "How old are ya, kid?"
"I'm eighteen." Zeke lowered his eyes to the glass cabinet, not really seeing anything.
"Huh, I'll need proof. Gotta driver's license?" The man grinned. "So long as it ain't a fake one." He snorted a chuckle. The cigarette and smoke bounced with his jocularity. "You know what you want done?"
"Not really..." Zeke scanned the prints again.
"Is there something in particular you're looking for, kid?" The man tapped the glass with a thick, yellow, but neatly manicured, index finger.
"I'm not sure..." Zeke pointed at a cross and crown of thorns. "I like the spiritual feel of that one."
The man yanked the print off the thumb tack and pulled several pages out of the plastic sleeve. Behind it were variations of the first. One caught Zeke's eye.
***
About the Author
Besides blogging, Lynn enjoys reading and writing mainstream fiction and speculative fiction, but you might find a historical romance among her collections as well. She currently lives in Southwest Kansas but looks forward to building a home in Colorado. She attends a Creative Writing class at the local college to sharpen her talents and increase her creative juices.
Author Links:
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Really nice excerpt. Thanks for participating :)
ReplyDeleteThanks, my pleasure :)
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