When seventeen-year-old seamstress,
Josephine Nimetz, agrees to take care of a WWI amputee in a remote Alaskan
lodge to escape the influenza of 1918, there’s enough friction to melt the Mendenhall
Glacier. Her position is only until June, and it pays well enough to overlook
the hardship of managing a rustic home and a shell-shocked veteran, Geoff
Chambers.
Geoff makes it clear that he isn’t too
fond of the “runt” sent to take care of his needs, nor of her painful mistakes.
Dealing with a depressed and addicted amputee, pushes Josephine to the brink of
leaving, if not for the money her salary brings.
But Josephine is a perfectionist,
determined to get Geoff back on his feet—figuratively. Though, sending a rich,
handsome veteran back into society may cost Josephine the man she has grown to
love.
Excerpt:
A quick peek into the hallway showed no
sign of a wayward Mrs. Prescott. Josephine shuffled carefully toward the
stranger’s door and positioned herself near the entrance to his dimly lit room.
“You came,” he said, his voice strangled
and rough.
“I came to ease my conscience and to get
some sleep.” She offered him the water glass. He took it from her but didn’t
drink.
“I need two white pills.” He pointed to a
metal box on top of a tall armoire. “My caretaker’s sick.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I’ll get in
trouble.’’
“It’s just an aspirin, Runt. Read the
label.”
How dare he insult her? Josephine crossed
her arms, crushing all the mail-order bows on her gown, and drew to her full
height—five feet nothing.
“I am not a runt.”
“Short hair, short body, short legs, you’re
a runt. Now, get me that pill.” He pushed his body higher against the
headboard. “Do it,” he demanded. “I hurt.” His tone softened.
An upholstered chair sat next to the
armoire. Couldn’t he—? Her hand tingled with memory. I didn’t touch a long leg. She hesitated as her pulse hammered
against her veins.
Do
it. Don’t. Do it. Don’t. Do it. Don’t.
She met his gaunt-eyed gaze and carefully
climbed onto the chair. The last thing she needed was to fall and hit her head
again. She reached for the metal box and opened it. Rows of bottles and a stack
of syringes filled the little chest. She picked up a copper tinted bottle from
the left-hand side.
“It’s on the right,” he coached. “Don’t
mess with that bottle. The doctor counts those narcotics. If you give me any
more of that tonight, you may not get out of here alive.”
She ignored his threat. “I may be unsteady,
but I do believe I could make it out the door before you could make it out of
bed.”
“Don’t worry. I’m cranky when I don’t get
much sleep.”
When wasn’t he cranky? She picked up the
bottle he indicated and recognized the brand. Her mother used these for pain.
She shook out two white pills and placed the bottle back in the box before
tidying up the row and closing the metal latch.
She handed him the pills. He drained the
water glass. When he had finished drinking, she reached out to take the glass
from him.
“What do you want?”
“The glass.”
He did not move. His hand clutched the
glass, resting it on top of the blanket near his thigh.
“I need the glass.” Heat, blood, and
embarrassment rushed to her cheeks. She braced for a struggle to get the
crystal back. “I don’t want it missing from my room. The other one either. I
don’t want Mrs. Chambers to think I’m a thief.” Her bottom lip quivered.
“Stop that. He moved the glass away from
his thigh. “Take it. I don’t know where the other one went. Search if you
like.”
She inched her hand closer toward the
glass. “You won’t curse again?”
He shook his head.
Her gaze never wavered from his unshaven
face until her fingers were wrapped around the prize. She grabbed the glass and
wedged it under her armpit for safety. She skimmed the room for the other cup,
but she didn’t see it.
The man flinched like he had taken another
drink bath.
She glanced to where his legs should have
formed two long lines underneath the sheets. The covers lay flat against the
bed.
“It’s not polite to stare.” His lifeless
eyes were as empty as the crystal glass.
“I didn’t mean to. I’ve just never seen
such an injury.” Or felt it.
Barb’s bio:
Barbara M. Britton lives in Southeast
Wisconsin and loves the snow—when it accumulates under three inches. She is
published in Biblical fiction and enjoys bringing little-known Bible characters
to light in her stories. Look for Barb to venture into Christian Historical
fiction in 2020 with “Until June.” Barb is a member of the American Christian
Fiction Writers, the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators,
Romance Writers of America, and Wisconsin Romance Writers of America. Barb has
a nutrition degree from Baylor University but loves to dip healthy strawberries
in chocolate. Find out more about Barb’s books at http://www.barbarambritton.com/books.html
You can purchase Until June at Amazon,
Barnes
& Noble, and wherever books
are sold.
The print edition will release around
July 1st.
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