Featuring...

Judith Rochelle, author of Shadow of the Hawk

www.judithrochelle.com

Remember, comment to win a copy of this fabulous book from Wild Rose Press!

About the author

I’ve had a lot of firsts in my life – first female sports report on The Michigan Daily at the University of Michigan; first woman to own a rock and roll agency in Detroit, the home of Motown; first woman president of the Pasco (Florida) Economic Development Council.
When my children were small, I satisfied my need for writing by working for weekly newspapers. I had a wild and wacky time managing rock and roll bands, then worked in fundraising, public affairs and community relations. But writing fiction was always my dream. Now my wonderful husband, David, and I are retired. We live in the Texas Hill Country and I write full time. When I’m not writing I’m an avid reader – anything and everything – and watching football, especially my beloved Michigan Wolverines.

Excerpt

He hauled the jack out of the truck bed, got down beneath the undercarriage and clamped it into place. As he began levering the handle the first fat drops of rain splattered on his battered Resistol hat and dripped onto his hands.

Great. Just damn great. Could anything else possibly go wrong?

He pumped the lever harder, anxious to get the job done. He could feel the eyes of the hawk, still in its circle of surveillance.

A jagged streak of lightning flashed across the graying sky and the heavy boom of thunder rumbled through the air, sounding a lot closer than he’d like. When he cast a look at the darkening sky he saw the hawk circle once then head off into the distance. He knew that with any kind of darkness they immediately sought shelter. To bad he wasn’t as smart as the hawk.
Jocko whinnied and shuffled his hooves restlessly.

“Easy, boy. We’ll be on our way in a minute.” I hope. With the jack finally in place, he began the task of removing the lug nuts. He had them about half done when a streak that Hawk swore looked like Thor’s own thunderbolt zapped the air. With the companion roar of thunder even closer, the rain began in earnest, pouring down over him like a waterfall. The water soaked into the ground beneath him, causing the jack to shift slightly.

Just one more damn minute. That’s all. Just one more damn minute. He worked furiously, the aged equipment balky in his hands. One more lug nut, then another. The dirt beneath him began to shift perilously and he tried to brace against the truck with his legs.

Then the next cloud burst washed away the dirt holding the jack in place, and it slipped, the truck dropping onto Hawk like a granite boulder. Blackness rushed toward him. His last thought, strangely, was of the hawk fiercely guarding his territory. From the distance came the sound of thundering hoof beats.