Check out a sample from an upcoming release from Jette Harris. Enjoy the fiction.
SAMPLE
PHOENIX RISING
FLINT RANCH
BY
JETTE HARRIS
Thatch had tried hiding under the bed, in the closet, and behind the dresser, only to be dragged out and thrown onto the bed, or crushed into the hardwood floor. Jed left his door open as he prepared, so escaping the room through the door was out of the question. Thatch’s breath came in ragged gasps. His heart pounded against his ribs.
Frost was already creeping up the window pane, although the sun had only set an hour ago. He pulled on some wooly socks, then eased the window up. He had greased the tracks earlier with shortening. Judy had pretended she hadn’t seen him take it; She overlooked most of the things her son did these days. She would swallow as if her throat was tight and turn away. Sometimes Thatch would do things in vain attempt to get a rise out of her. He stopped after breaking a plate, and when Jed demanded what happened, she took responsibility. She had been unable to see through her left eye for three days.
The window rose smoothly and quietly. The cold bit at Thatch’s face and fingers as he eased himself out onto the roof. Although Jed forced him out there earlier in the year to clean the gutters, the fear of falling through a weak spot right into the living room was almost paralyzing. His hands shook from fear–not cold–as he turned and slid the window down. Backing against the side of the house, he tucked his feet under his body as best he could, and waited.
From this side of the roof, Thatch could see the end of the stable. Swallowing, he tried to focus on remembering the patterns on his favorite horse, Cassie’s foal, now a yearling named Archie. Eager footsteps approached within the house, and Thatch’s door groaned open. His face burned. Horses didn’t feel shame. He wished he could be more like a horse: hard-working and impervious, independent. Cloth rustled as Jed threw the sheets back. He grunted. Thatch held his breath. He was tempted to peer inside as he heard wood scraping and the closet door squeaking, but he was too terrified to move. He kept his eyes fixed on the stable.
“Where are you, huh?” Jed asked in a low voice.
Thatch’s head began to swim as he ran out of air. His chest was growing sore, but he was too scared to breathe.
Jed released a long, growling sigh. His heavy steps faded as he left the room. Thatch dared to breathe, but not to move. As soon as Jed’s door closed, he would crawl back inside and curl up to sleep under the bed.
A scream tore through the house. Thatch cried out. Throwing open the window, he fell inside. All of his weight came down on his wrist with a crunch. He slumped onto his side and opened his mouth in a breathless howl. Judy screamed again. Hot tears streamed down his face as he scrambled to his feet and shot out of the room. He collided with his mother’s door. It flew open, depositing him once more onto the floor.
Frost was already creeping up the window pane, although the sun had only set an hour ago. He pulled on some wooly socks, then eased the window up. He had greased the tracks earlier with shortening. Judy had pretended she hadn’t seen him take it; She overlooked most of the things her son did these days. She would swallow as if her throat was tight and turn away. Sometimes Thatch would do things in vain attempt to get a rise out of her. He stopped after breaking a plate, and when Jed demanded what happened, she took responsibility. She had been unable to see through her left eye for three days.
The window rose smoothly and quietly. The cold bit at Thatch’s face and fingers as he eased himself out onto the roof. Although Jed forced him out there earlier in the year to clean the gutters, the fear of falling through a weak spot right into the living room was almost paralyzing. His hands shook from fear–not cold–as he turned and slid the window down. Backing against the side of the house, he tucked his feet under his body as best he could, and waited.
From this side of the roof, Thatch could see the end of the stable. Swallowing, he tried to focus on remembering the patterns on his favorite horse, Cassie’s foal, now a yearling named Archie. Eager footsteps approached within the house, and Thatch’s door groaned open. His face burned. Horses didn’t feel shame. He wished he could be more like a horse: hard-working and impervious, independent. Cloth rustled as Jed threw the sheets back. He grunted. Thatch held his breath. He was tempted to peer inside as he heard wood scraping and the closet door squeaking, but he was too terrified to move. He kept his eyes fixed on the stable.
“Where are you, huh?” Jed asked in a low voice.
Thatch’s head began to swim as he ran out of air. His chest was growing sore, but he was too scared to breathe.
Jed released a long, growling sigh. His heavy steps faded as he left the room. Thatch dared to breathe, but not to move. As soon as Jed’s door closed, he would crawl back inside and curl up to sleep under the bed.
A scream tore through the house. Thatch cried out. Throwing open the window, he fell inside. All of his weight came down on his wrist with a crunch. He slumped onto his side and opened his mouth in a breathless howl. Judy screamed again. Hot tears streamed down his face as he scrambled to his feet and shot out of the room. He collided with his mother’s door. It flew open, depositing him once more onto the floor.