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Mar 16, 2012

Sneaky Sunday: A Home For Wayward Husbands by @JohneeCherry

Posted by Wendy Ewurum  |  at  12:00 PM

I recently bought this book and since I think the title and blurb hint of rivetting reading, i didnt think it a bad idear to give you a little heads pp about it to.... The Kindle price in South Africa is $5.99 but $3.99 internationally. Enjoy this Sunday :must read:.

READ THE FIRST FIVE CHAPTERS

You have to get off the freeways in America to find a by-road town like Atlanta, Texas where folks thrive on gossip, tie swayback horses in their front yards, hang washtubs like a coat of arms, and plant petunia beds wrapped in old tires that hug dilapidated back porches. Simple, honest houses. The roads are dusty in summer and sinkholes in winter in Bitzy Smith's world and she finds herself with a big problem -- four husbands. Two men want to own her, one loves her, and the fourth man she loves. Bitzy has a hard time saying no to everyone she loves, from her meddling sister, to her soon-to-be ex-best girlfriend, and her wary daughter, and to the love of her life -- Beau Smith. Beau is trying to rebuild a past he can see and smell and shape with his hands. His luck runs about as true as a bent horseshoe. He's been leaning in and out on the uneasy curves of life until a straight road lands him back into the arms of Bitzy. 



CHAPTER THREE

Fluff
Pure shock paused Bitzy. Beau's impromptu appearance in her weedy ruts rocked her core. His hands were stretched out in a solemn prayer-like fashion, his eyes watery, clearly beseeching her good favor. She watched his mouth move, but his words made no sense whatsoever.
It seemed her good favor had caught her in the nightmare of their past days—after they had argued and she'd won or thought she had, and he'd go off to sulk. Off had been what she called his week-long disappearances, but when he'd come back, she'd wrap him in stupid forgiveness.
Or if she could have snapped out of her nightmare, she could have taken the few steps and decked him out so hard he wouldn't know the difference between her hitting him, and say, a tractor trailer obliterating him out on Highway 59.

I need—Home—Take me—Sick!

All the words he blurted did not register, until Spec dropped out of the bushes. He unfurled behind Beau's pleadings like a paper doll flying in the wind, hobbled to the earth by a pair of duct-taped crutches, stinking up the air like a dead skunk.

She knew a lot about rotting chickens and some more about rotten human beings—the dying and the ones who lived and this one had won the stinker prize.
"That's Spec!" Beau muttered when he realized Bitzy had been staring with disbelief at the man. "My good buddie!" Saying it like it had been normal for a corpse to walk out of the brush, and he kept on talking Bitzy into taking him—them—back.

The blind stare she had fallen into at the sight of Beau after he had been gone for what—a decade—left her senseless. Spec brought Bitzy to her senses.
"I'll be right back. Don't move." When she looked back, trusting she wouldn't be turned into a pillar of salt, Beau had a shoulder under Spec. The thought of the man dying made her hustle faster, but her legs felt like they grew shorter with each hurried sweaty step. Her cats, which had been waiting patiently, scaled the ruts fast ready for a bowl of chow. Lassie lagged behind guard-dogging.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Getting Spec into the living room had been a feat worth recording, and Verny's face had been a stare of utter disbelief and horror. He let out a girly gasp, like he saw a ghost jump out of the closet, while he watched her and Beau haul Spec's frail body inside.
After sitting the two men down in the living room, she escaped to the laundry porch to call Dot for support, and as usual, Dot let her down, so she rummaged for a pack of smokes. And adding a negative to a negative gave her a big minus zero and there were no decent cigarettes and no weed whatsoever.

Where was Phillipa when she needed her?
She had laid Spec out on the sunroom couch. Not laid-out laid-out, like a dead body, but he might as well had been dead. Verny blustered and spewed, but did a good magician's act disappearing out the back door. With a minimum amount of tobacco in her veins from an old Marlboro stub she had found in the laundry room drawer she headed for the sunroom.
"I'm thinking we need to call an ambulance."
She perched on Verny's recliner and pinched her nose every now and then, ever so slightly, hoping the poor man didn't notice.
"Not that! He asked me to not do anything. He wants to die." Spec was breathing, but he didn't say yeah or nay to Beau's announcement.
"So you brought him here? Ah—that's not good for me." Bitzy put her hand on her jittering leg.
"We've been together a long time." Beau started. "I promised him—"
"—the hell you say!"

"Bitzy? Please? There's room and you're a nurse."
Bitzy jumped up at that and grabbed a handful of Beau, dragging him through the kitchen and onto the laundry porch. His thinness came as a shock, like moving a Cabbage Patch Kid stuffed with white fluff, so light he floated along willingly.
A kid dragging her doll in the dirt.

She let him go, wanting no connection to his energy or his lack of it.
"I'm not a nurse. I'm a CNA. I changed bedpans and cleaned up vomit. He's dying!" She lowered her voice. "There's nothing I can do about it."
She spit the words into his ear, shocked she felt more moved about this stranger than she did about Beau, and she moved back clearing a breach from Beau, trembling mad.
Long lost Beau did not move her—Much!

"I should! I should—" She swam into a lake of wormy displeasure remembering all the reasons she should hate Beau. She was once again fishing in the same ol' muddy Lake Beau hoping to catch a straight-up answer out of a not-so-straight-up man.
"I made him a promise—" Beau said, matching Bitzy's hissing whispers "—and I like to keep my promises."

"Oh my God!" Bitzy whirled back at Beau's face. She put her heel into an old cracked clay pot filled with dry dirt and a dead baby water oak tree Verny had planted from an acorn. She stumbled, her fist flew up, and as she went over she missed Beau's chin by an inch, but she popped another fist-sized hole through the rotten porch screen.


About the Author

Most know me as the author to Fabulosity Reads and in actual fact, that is the previous name of this blog. I have since then moved my books to a Wordpress self-hosted blog so that I can have a place to show a different side of me which I am equally passionate about and that is marketing and personal development. I hope you will love being here, watching me grow as I share and learn. My highest hope is that we will grown and learn together in all disciplines affecting our lives. I'd LUUURRRVE to hear from you, so don't be shy...

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Email: Wendy.Ewurum@fabulosityreads.com Tel: 071 087 4833 South Africa Twitter: twitter.com/FabulosityReads Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/fabmarketingandpr
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