More About Buried Secrets by A. Y. Stratton

April 15 2014

More About Buried Secrets by A. Y. Stratton

I wanted to write a story set in the winter I knew as a child and still have to deal with. I pictured a night with bone-chilling gusts of wind and blowing snow so strong it knocks you off your feet, makes your eyes water, freezes your door locks and pierces your heart when your car won’t follow the direction of the steering wheel.

As I wrote I imagined the weather as one of the villains in the story, the unpredictable one that affects the hero, the heroine and the living breathing villains. Here’s an excerpt:

In his driveway, he noticed tire tracks in the new snow. A prickle of danger skittered up his spine. He continued past his house and spotted a vehicle tucked into the parking slot beside his garage.


There was no moon. No yard lights to show him the make and model. He parked in front of the restaurant on the next block and scrambled over two fences, around three plastic-covered boats, and through five backyards, until he reached his own. Like a statue, he stared at his back

deck, hoping his eyes would pick up some movement.


A figure shifted, inched toward the steps leading from his house to the river, and then halted. Nathan waited. The person seemed to be alone. No way to tell if he had a gun.


Nathan crept back to the neighbor’s house, circled around to his own driveway and along the side of the house, until he reached the other end of the deck. He picked up some snow, packed it into a ball, and tossed it so it landed five feet from the huddled figure.


A woman yelped. He knew that voice. He sailed over the railing and pulled Kate into his arms. “What the hell are doing here? I’ve been looking all over for you!”


“Nathan?” She grabbed his collar and shoved her face into his chest. “You scared me! I came here to see you, but you weren’t home.” She sounded like she was about to cry.


“I’m here now. Come on in. Your hands are like ice.”