Cherokee Thunder - Conard County - by Rachel Lee

Excerpt p95-98

“Fear is a survival instinct,” Micah said slowly. “Everyone feels it. That’s why most people don’t stick their hands into the flame on the stove.”

He made it sound so simple, so natural, yet she knew that the fears she felt were not natural.

“The circumstances that threaten us determine our fears,” he continued just as slowly, his voice flowing like a lazy summer river. “When our circumstances change, gradually our fears change, too.” He turned his head and met her gaze squarely. “Yours are changing already, Faith.”

They were, she realized. Just a little. “What are you afraid of?” She had no business asking, but she needed to hear this strong, self-contained man admit to just one thing that frightened him, even if it was of no consequence. It would make him seem more human, more approachable. Closer to her.

It was his turn to astonish her, to shock her, and he did it as if compelled, revealing something he had never told anyone else in the world. “I’m afraid of being buried alive.”

Speechless, she stared at him, her blue eyes huge. Micah looked down at his plate and sighed. That had sure as hell torn it, he thought grimly. Now would come the questions, and he had no one but himself to blame. She would ask and he would have to decide whether to answer, or to be flat-out rude. He wasn’t afraid to be rude, but he didn’t want to treat Faith that way. She deserved something better than that.

So he didn’t wait for her to speak. Shoving his plate to one side, he rose. “Let’s go sit in the living room,” he said harshly. If he had to bare his soul, even this little bit, he was going to do it comfortably, with a cup of hot coffee in his hands in an environment as far as he could get from the nightmare that still haunted him....

* * * *

...Astonishing him with her perception, she spoke softly into a silence that had grown far too long. “What happened, Micah?”

He wasn’t a man who ever flinched from the tough things in life.

When he set out to do something, he did it. He had decided to tell her, and he didn’t attempt to make light of it or minimize it. He didn’t shrug it away. He handed the truth to her without varnish, evasions or omissions.

“Back during the Vietnam conflict, I was wounded and taken prisoner by the VC. The Vietcong. We called them Victor Charlie, or just Charlie.” He watched her, waiting for the withdrawal or denial, but she only nodded acceptance and understanding.

“They held me for about seventy-six hours,” he said, revealing that he had counted every single one of those hours. Every one of those minutes. “In a hole in the ground. It was so narrow I couldn’t sit. I had to stand. Most of the time they kept the top of the hole covered so that no light at all got in. There was just me, the dark and the bugs." He heard Faith’s soft murmur but ignored it. “Anyhow, from time to time, when they got to feeling really nasty, they shoveled dir in on me.”

“Oh, my God…” It was a whisper. He looked at her, saw the horror. Now he did shrug.

“It’s kind of stayed with me,” he said.

“How…how did you escape?”

“A good buddy of mine, Ransom Laird. You’ll meet him before long, since he’s your neighbor. He came back after the firefight to find my body and take care of it. He’s that kind of guy. When he didn’t find me, he realized I was still alive, so he came looking for me. By the time he got me out of that hole, I was so weak from infection and dehydration that he had to carry me over his shoulders. To this day, I don’t know how he managed it.”

She broke free then. She broke out of the prison of terror that had been hammered into her by blows and words. She overcame a hurdle so high that only minutes before it had appeared insurmountable. Caring carried her over it effortlessly.

Without a thought, without room for fright, driven by a need to comfort, she moved down the couch and threw her arms around Micah. She didn’t say anything. Silently she clung to him, holding him fiercely, telling him with her arms what she could not find words for.

Interested in a Reprint?

TWO LIVES DEPENDED ON HIM

Micah Parish: Deputy Sheriff. Six feet, four inches of solid muscle. Half-Cherokee. Tough, proud, a loner.

Faith Williams: Mother-to-be. Fragile-looking blond running for her life. Qulet, scared of her own shadow.

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Cherokee Thunder

Dear Ms. Lee, I found Cherokee Thunder at a used book swap during a RV rally about 13 years ago in Berrien Springs Michigan. I still have it. I moved last December and was finally unpacking some of the last boxes in the basement this past week, and there I saw Cherokee Thunder, worn but readable. I started reading it all over again. Want you to know it is one of the best love stories I have every read. I don't normally read Harlequin romance novels but this one is the exception. Thank you for such a heart fill story.

Reba

angelfire5 , August 15, 2008

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Thank YOU. In a sense, CHEROKEE THUNDER was the book that started the series. While EXILE'S END was written first, it was a phone call from my editor who, when she reached page 88 in the manuscript of EXILE'S END, called me and said, "Tell me Micah Parish is going to have his own book."

My answer was, "I'm working on it right now." At that point she told me to send her a synopsis. Once she received it, I got my first multi-book contract for the first three Conard County novels.

I'm so glad you love the story. It was almost magical for me to write it.

Hugs,
Rachel

Rachel Lee , August 15, 2008

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