Howdy! The word prompt this week is "dice". I'm switching to a new story I've just started, one that has been percolating for a long time. It's tentatively named "Break My Heart". Scroll down for the link to return to Tuesday Tales and to my website. The picture here isn't a final cover, just a rendering I did to get inspiration, although I think the picture will be on the final cover. Thanks for stopping by.
Rick Winslow approached the beat-up farmhouse with
caution. Seedy came to mind. Along with dilapidated and creepy. He shivered.
This is what he could get that came with thirty acres and no neighbors – the
price he paid for privacy.
Returning to Pine Grove hadn’t been a choice, in the
truest sense of the word. It had been the only place he could afford such
privacy. Back to his roots, maybe. At least here he’d be away from the stares
of strangers. He’d live in peace, get a few animals, maybe even branch out from
dogs and cats to chickens so he could have fresh eggs.
His cousin Mindy had found it and called him. He had driven out from New York City that same day and made an offer the next. Much of the
land was open field. He’d let that go to seed, return to native forest,
something he could hide behind.
Breaker Winslow had died in a fire and Rick Winslow
had been reborn. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the heat and
smell the smoke. Fear spike through him. First thing he’d do in this old wreck
was brick up the fireplace.
He pulled a cap out of his back pocket and thrust it
low on his head. Had to keep the sun off his face. That’s what the doctor who
did the reconstructive surgery said.
“Stay out of the sun. That graft is gonna be sensitive
for a while. Maybe forever. Wear sunblock every day and a hat. Stay away from the beach and you’ll be fine. The
scars will fade and you’ll look okay soon.”
Look okay? By whose standards? He’d never look okay
again, never be Breaker Winslow, actor, model, heartthrob on a million book
covers. When Breaker Winslow rushed up the stairs to the second floor of his
townhouse looking for Ralph his golden
retriever mix, he had no clue how advanced the fire had become or where it had
started.
He’d managed to save Ralph, only to be struck by a
burning beam. He’d dropped the dog, who had been buried under a pile of flaming
debris. Unconscious, he’d been saved by the fire department. Breaker’s face had
been permanently damaged, scarred beyond much
more than a skin graft patch job could fix. And Ralph had died anyway. Breaker had rolled
the dice, and lost, big time.
Now he was
simply Richard B. Winslow. Yeah, “B” for Breaker. Rick to his childhood friends
and family. Not fit to model, Rick had no other profession. Once it hit the
news who owned the townhouse that had burned to the ground, the paparazzi had hounded him. Every effort to hide had failed and it wasn’t long before the
picture of his hideous face had hit the papers.
