Friday, February 25, 2022

“A rich plot with building suspense, the writing is perfect and flows well. I loved this story.”   ~History and Women~

To purchase Ghost Point: Ghost Point

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Read an Excerpt:

A rough hand grabbed her arm.

Yelena lurched back with a gasp, her arm in a painful vice of fingers.

Seger Trowbridge Sr. glowered over her, his beer belly pushing against her like a mountain of meat. “Hey, girl. I want to talk to you.” His words weren’t friendly.

“Grandpa!” Seger yelled in delight.

She tugged free of the old man’s grip, her heart pounding. She rubbed her arm. “Good afternoon, sir. What are you doing here?” she asked through tight lips.

Trowbridge shoved back his beat-up cap, ridging his thinning brown hair. His faded shirt, missing a button, barely reached his frayed jeans. “I want to know what kind of woman tells her husband not to do his job.” His pudgy face, burnished from years on the river, pulled into a sneer. An older, ugly version of her husband. “Do you wear the pants in your family, or does Luke?”

She should have known. “I’m only concerned for his well-being.” She grasped her son’s hand and stepped away from the whiskey fumes. “Can we talk about this another time?”

A time not in front of her boy, she wanted to add.

“Don’t turn your men into wimps,” he growled. “Women stay home and take care of the house and family, they don’t run it.”

A gentleman doesn’t accost women on the street. But Papa Seger was far from that. She wondered what Luke had said to the old brute. Her body stiff, she wanted to stride away in cold silence.

“You have your opinion.” And apparently he’d given Luke a similar opinion on women and dredging. She stepped around him, but her son bounced on his toes, waiting in earnest to be acknowledged.

“Come here, boy.” Trowbridge lifted the child from her grasp and scooped him into a bear hug. Seger squirmed and giggled. The old man’s only soft spot seemed to be his grandson. “Never let your mommy make you a sissy.” He glared at her again. “Tell her you want a brother.”

“That is between me and Luke,” she said as calmly as possible, her anger flaring. Was no one happy unless she was spewing out children?

“Well, you stay out of men’s business.” His lined forehead grooved even more. “You’re a Virginian an’ should be firmly behind him. You don’t know nothing ‘bout what’s goin’ on.”

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund. 


Can their love overcome dangerous obstacles? by Diane Scott Lewis

  To purchase, please click HERE Formally "Outcast Artist in Bretagne," my WWII novel is now "Bretagne: a forbidden affair.&q...