★★★★★ "Old mansion, strange old women, half-truths, stormy weather, curses- and a beautiful young woman. A man faces an opportunity of a lifetime- the chance to advance his career, but gets sidetracked by the creepy goings on. This short read is a perfect read for a stormy afternoon curled up on the couch. Very enjoyable book that keeps you interested as you try to sort it all out!"
★★★★★ "What a great new story by Suzanne Williams! It had all the elements of a cozy suspense read with a sprawling estate, a somewhat creepy old woman, legends and mystery, a dashing hero and beautiful, but not perfect heroine. All you need is a cup of hot tea or coffee, a warm blanket, and this book for a relaxing afternoon of enjoyable reading."
Today's excerpt is from a book cover I presented last week, DRIVIN' ME CRAZY. In this beginning scene, Delilah Comfort comes face to face with a guy from New York who's taken her parking space.
Mama used to say, “Delilah Comfort, that red hair don’t give you the right to act like a fire-breathin’ dragon.”
And I’d reply, “No, I’m blamin’ that on you.”
Used to get myself in a lot of trouble with that remark, too. I’ve had my hide bent over the bed and thrashed until it was redder than the hair that got me in the mess to start with.
Truth was, it wasn’t the hair that caused any of it. But the devil in me. My granny once told me I was “plumb possessed,” and I figured if I was, I might as well act like it.
I can’t begin to tell you the shenanigans I got myself into. It’d take up too much space on the page, and is beside the point anyway. Puttin’ my past behind me, the point of relatin’ exactly how awful I was only pertains to this because whoever the hang that black-haired, over-muscled, hay-chewin’, redneck wannabe was takin’ my parkin’ space, I was about to kill him.
He was gonna see it comin’, too, stare me right in the eyes while I punched him in the kisser.
That in mind, I pulled my car in behind his and stomped the short distance between us. Then feet planted shoulder-width apart, one hand on my hip, I curled the other into a fist and pounded on the drivers’ side window.
He rolled the glass down, put his elbow on the ridge of it, and flashed me a smile that at any other moment might have made me look twice. “Hey, there, pretty thing. Whatchoo need?”
What I needed was his head on a plate.
Stupid Yankee. Who talks like that except some mob boss from Brooklyn?
“You’re parked in my place,” I said.
He acted surprised, one eyebrow arched upward. “Am I?”
“Yessir, all four wheels, your fancy SUV, and that pea brain of yours.”
He gave a laugh. “Pea brain?”
“Yessir. That’s southern for dimwit.”
My first hand joined my second at my waist, and I narrowed my gaze. “Dimwit, Nincompoop, bonehead, numskull. Take your pick.”
Dadgumit if he wasn’t grinnin’ now. Dadgumit if I wasn’t startin’ to notice how fine he was. F-i-n-e, fine. The-sun-ain’t-shinin’-but-I’m-sweatin’ fine.
“How ‘bout I buy you a meal as penance?” he asked.
Buy me a meal? How would that make up for his cuttin’ me off? Well, other than I could look in those cocoa brown eyes of his and drool. He looked like he could bench press a tractor with one arm.
“Well, I’m thinkin’.”
Thinkin’ my parkin’ spot traded in for his time was more and more appealin’.
“Listen, Miss …”
“Comfort,” I said. “Delilah Comfort, and you are?”
“Dominic Tomaselli,” he replied.
“Well, Mr. Tomaselli, if’n I take you up on it, that don’t mean I’ve forgiven this transgression.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t expect it does.”
I raised one hand, my finger pointed at his face. “Nor am I movin’ my car outta your way. I park here every day and just ‘cause you didn’t know it is no excuse. You saw my blinker and pulled in anyway.”
He dipped his chin, like he was sorrowful.
And drat if I didn’t give in. I was such a sucker for puppy dog eyes, and apparently Mr. Tomaselli was skilled at givin’ ‘em.
“Okay. One meal.”
His smile returned and he scooted outta his SUV. “Ladies first.”
Suzanne D. Williams
Suzanne Williams Photography
Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.