Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Feature: ONE SMALL CHILD, in the Tabor Heights short story anthology

You KNOW you want this anthology.
Especially since it'll be FREE!

Come to the Mt. Zion Ridge Facebook party on CYBER MONDAY and find out how you can get your copy.

CLICK HERE to go to the page and mark that you'll be attending.

The Tabor Heights books, and the companion series of stories, Quarry Hall, are currently off the market.
BUT ....
Mt. Zion Ridge Press will be re-releasing them in the very near feature. Come to the Facebook party and learn more!

The 3rd story is ONE SMALL CHILD

Max and Tony are getting ready to be married, but first they have to deal with even more fallout from the events of last spring, when a conniving actor set out to destroy Max's reputation and her career as a screenwriter before it even got started -- by pretending to BE the up-and-coming screenwriter, Max Keeler.


"I don't know, Leia," Tony muttered, his grin turning sickly. "I'm getting a bad feeling about this."

Normally Max would have sighed and slapped his arm, and maybe laughed, depending on her mood -- but she felt just as apprehensive as Tony looked. Taking a deep breath, she said a silent prayer that she was wrong, and turned on the light.

The sound stopped immediately. She looked down, just as a gust of wind blew powdery snow into the theater. Stunned, she still had the presence of mind to close and latch the doors.

"I thought that cliché went out with tying damsels in distress to railroad tracks," Tony said, and stepped around her to kneel, putting the basket on the floor between them.

Big eyes in a wizened little face blinked up at him, putting a lie to the temporary -- wishful -- belief that a doll lay in the bright orange, soft plastic basket, just like one that Max had seen in the Dollar Spot at Target last week. She wanted to say something witty, or at least smart-alecky as Tony picked up the basket and carried the baby from the chill box office into the warmth of the lobby. She pushed the doors open again and looked out, to glance up and down the street, on the off-chance that whoever had put the baby there -- as a joke, it had to be a really bad joke -- was watching, waiting for a reaction, to jump out in another moment and laugh and yell gotcha!

No one and nothing moved on the snowy street, under the steel gray stormy morning sky.

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