Amber and Blue

By K. R. Rowe

"You can contain the passion of your heart no more than I can control the breath that I take."~Amber and Blue

Alex was just an adventurous kid when he saved a young girl's life. Years later, sudden bouts of recurring nightmares drove him to find her, only to have her ripped from his life by a lunatic. The one time he needed help, he was forced to call on Lucien; a criminal, a spy, and a man he despises. Lucien is driven to help by guilt and obsession, and in the process, he is willing to risk his own life and betray a madman he once called his brother. Stolen from the banks of the Tennessee River, she was swept to the war torn streets of Old Montreal. Is Alex's love strong enough to protect her once more? Not from the grip of the madman who took her, but from the arms of Lucien, the criminal, who saved her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. R. Rowe
• Release date: Oct 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301167241

K. R. Rowe

K. R. Rowe spent her childhood in Chattanooga, and later relocated to East Ridge, Tennessee. Her father was born and raised near Tellico Plains, in the heart of Tennessee’s tract of the Appalachian Mountains. With her mother’s South Carolina heritage, her southern roots run deep. From a very young age, her overpowering love of the mountains continues to draw her to them. When not tied to her desk, her free time with her family is often spent enjoying any activity that can take her far from the hustle and bustle of everyday life and into the peace of the forest.

Book preview

Son of a bitch, the young woman muttered under her breath. On the cusp of a soft breeze, wisps of red hair lifted like sunlit fire and floated around her face. Bright copper strands clung to her eyelashes and settled in her mouth, but she brushed them aside, unnoticed. Impressed, she knelt over the dead man and studied him.

Perfect shot—right between the eyes.

Guilt gripped her, only a twinge, but it faded in an instant. This sort of incident was the last thing she expected when she finally decided to intervene, but with all due respect, she thought with a shrug, this man deserved what he got.

******

Chapter 1

The Lodge

More than a decade earlier, the first week of June had been perfect, and the small flower-filled meadow beckoned the tiny young girl. Impatient, she waited outside while her nanny was busy with lunch. Leaning back on a knotty pine bench, she swung her feet back and forth, watching her dress catch the wind and bloat like a parachute. Bored, she absently twisted her dark chestnut hair into tangled knots, smiling her sneakiest smile. This was a perfect chance to go exploring.

No one would miss her.

In the center of the meadow she sat: cross-legged and singing, studying the clover, choosing the plumpest white flowers. She hoped to look beautiful with the necklace she planned to make, just like a princess. Maybe, if she had time, she would make one for her nanny. The lilt of her voice lifted and floated over the meadow. Mimicking the sound of wind chimes tinkling in the breeze, she hummed her favorite tune. This is the prettiest place in the whole world, she thought, and in her trusting young mind, it was perfect.

The first grunt was faint.

Engrossed in her flower filled world, she paid little attention until a loud snort of anger resonated from close behind. Turning to peer over her shoulder, fear widened her eyes. Agitated, a boar stood nearby, tense and enraged. Daggers of razor sharp bone curled from the sides of his snarling jowls. Eyes fixed and wild, ropes of saliva dripped in slow rivulets over his lips, and stretched to the ground. Coarse black hair along the ridge of his spine stood straight, bristling with anger. Stumbling to her feet, she took a cautious step back and turned to run.

Too late.

Rumbling hoof beats gouged the earth, the snort and snarl mere inches behind. On fire, her lungs burned with every labored breath. Her roaring heartbeat deafened her ears. Overcome with panic, she ran wild without direction until she tripped on her sandal and fell. Closing her eyes, her small body tensed, waiting in fear for the inevitable.

Instead, she heard silence.

Finally gathering courage, she looked behind her. A teenage boy with a longbow stood over the fallen beast. Intent, he studied the boar—watching, waiting. Thick dark blood pooled and rolled down its chest, the arrow pulsing with each dying beat of its terrified heart.

The boy looped his bow over one shoulder and it came to rest at an angle across his back. Strolling casually toward her, he appeared unfazed. His camouflage pants fell dragging the ground, half-hiding his muddy worn boots. Shoulder-length hair hung thick and dark, his skin tan from the sun. Reflecting sunlight danced in his eyes, matching the deep blue tee-shirt hanging loose from his shoulders. They sparkled like—

Are you ok? he asked. The strong smell of wood smoke hung in his clothes and she tried not to sneeze when he helped her up. You shouldn't be here by yourself. He took hold of her hand, leading her back toward the lodge. It's too dangerous.

How did you learn to shoot an arrow like that? Glancing over her shoulder, she worried the boar wasn't dead.

My dad taught me.

Still shaking, she tried to be brave, but her eyes welled with tears as they walked.

Don't cry. His footsteps slowed and he came to a stop. He's deader than a doornail. He won't hurt you now.

Sucking in her quivering lip, she took a deep breath. You saved me.

Don't worry, he wouldn't have killed you. Besides, I shoot stuff all the time.

"Are you a real knight in shining armor?" Innocent, questioning, wide green eyes stared up in awe at the handsome young man.

Nah, I don’t even have a horse.

Continuing their walk, they cut their way through a large blooming patch of flame azaleas, bordering the lodge and meadow.

Can you stay and play? Grace asked, stopping at the meadow's edge. I know some really fun games and I have a new doll that really talks. Excitement quickened her words; finally someone to play with besides an adult.

Uh …. He glanced toward boar. I can't, I have to get going. I've been gone too long already.

Too bad you can’t stay—for just a little while longer, she said. How 'bout tomorrow?

I wish I could, but that hog tore up my mom’s garden and I’ll probably have to help straighten it up.

Oh … ok. Digging the toe of her sandal into the loose dirt at her feet, she stared at the ground. We'll be leaving the day after tomorrow so … I guess we won't get to play at all. Disappointment laced her lonely words, but a thoughtful smile lit her face. Maybe next year then, we're always here the first week of June. Looking around, she saw her mother in the distance. Shoot, I better go now before I get in trouble. Thanks again. She threw her arms around his waist, squeezed with all of her strength, and then let go.

Steadying himself from her onslaught, he smiled. You don't have to thank me. That hog will be our dinner for the next couple of months. He stuck out his stomach, rubbing it with anticipation.

What's your name?

Alex, he called over his shoulder as he turned to jog away.

The mountain lodge was a welcome change from the cold, drafty home where she lived. Her mother hated the resort because it was harsh, dirty, and in the middle of nowhere. The Appalachians remained untouched and wild, but Grace didn’t care. She loved it here, because the mountains felt like her home.

Her grandmother's name was Grace, as was her grandmother’s before her. The years slipped by, and at eighteen, the name fit; she had grown into a graceful, dark-haired beauty. She had just turned seven when she met Alex—and the boar. Year after year, she waited but never saw him again. As she grew older, the vague memory of a dark-haired young man with indigo eyes sometimes crept into her thoughts. Although she swore as a child to never forget him, the years slid by and the details of his face slowly began to fade.

******

Chapter 2

Tequila

The small tavern in Québec sat virtually empty. A lone man sat on a stool, shoulders slumped, forehead resting on the rim of his glass. Looking up with a red-eyed, drunk face, he slammed his fist on the bar.

Another round—woman!

Reluctant, the bartender frowned as she splashed him another shot of tequila. Tossing it down in one gulp, he dragged his sleeve across his mouth.

That’s a nice shirt, he said, making a crude gesture. Can I talk you out of it?

Not tonight sweetheart, she replied.

Pulling a cigar from his shirt pocket, he stuck it between his teeth.

You can’t smoke that nasty thing in here, she said.

Aggravated, he ripped the cigar from his mouth and bellowed an obscenity. Snatching his glass from the bar, he hurled it past the bartender’s head, smashing it against the wall behind her.

Security stepped from the corner but the bartender raised her finger, stopping him. Her gaze turned, resting on a huge bear of a man ambling through the door. Hanging to his waist, his long black ponytail swung as he lumbered across the room. Pulling off his gloves finger by finger, he stopped behind the man sitting at the bar.

Lucien, Jacques said from behind him.

What? he said, grumbling with a deep-set scowl.

Jacques hand lay heavy on his shoulder. I’m sorry for your loss, my friend.

Lucien remained silent, staring down at the unlit cigar between his fingers.

You have to stop blaming yourself, Jacques said. You did everything in your power. Your mother was just too ill.

Lucien leaned forward, dropping his head to the bar, dangling his arms beneath it.

Come, my father needs to see us. He has some work for us in the States.

Lucien churned out a groan and raised his head. Spinning on his stool with an off-balance sway, he crashed to the floor at Jacques’ feet. Flat on his back and unmoving, he made no effort to get up.

Where in the States? he grumbled from the floor.

Leaning over Lucien, Jacques hauled him up and over his shoulder. The South.

Jacques, Lucien said.

Yes?

I think I pissed my pants.

Yes, Jacques replied with a grimace. I know.

******

Chapter 3

Betrothed

Through increased births and decreased mortality, the population of the earth eventually reached an unsustainable number. In the United States, the challenge of providing sufficient shelter, medicine, food, and clean water had put a strain on an already crippled economy. The leaders of earth's developed nations came together for a series of emergency summits. As a result, family planning policies were set in place. Their final consensus—one child per family.

Under the guise of securing an acceptable future for one’s only child, arranged marriages had become a common practice in certain social arenas. A growing number of the population; however, found the custom to be archaic and scarred by the stigma of greed.

At the young age of thirteen, Grace’s father had arranged her marriage to a handsome young man of twenty. Sebastian, her betrothed, was the epitome of charm and charisma to the outside world, but with his layers peeled away, an intense insecurity lurked behind his confident facade. Being much older than Grace, her needy adolescent presence had always been a source of constant irritation to him. Even now at eighteen, she was no longer a child, yet his perception of her had never changed.

***

The sun splashed the horizon with the morning's first light when Sebastian arrived for a visit. Grace stood anxious, waiting and hopeful. Maybe this time, he might spend time with her.

Sebastian—good to see you.

Atticus, her father, ushered him into the house.

Mr. Astor—Grace. Although Sebastian greeted them both, his pale gray eyes stared through her.

Come, have a seat in the study for a while, Atticus said. I have a new bottle of imported brandy I’ve wanted to open.

A shot of good smooth brandy would be nice for a change, sir, Sebastian said as he passed.

Clearing her throat, Grace tried to capture his attention, but he was ill mannered, brushing past her without a second glace. Heaving a frustrated sigh, she fell into the recliner sideways, slinging her legs over the armrest. Leaning back, she crossed her arms and kicked an alternating rhythm on the leather side with both feet.

Drifting from inside the study, the men's voices carried across the foyer. Have a Cuban, she heard her dad say. When I was your age, these were illegal.

You’re too kind, Sebastian said.

So how’s the doctorate coming along? Literature was it?

Yes sir, it’s almost complete, one more semester.

The powerful stench of cigar smoke drifted through the house, watering her eyes and burning her nose. Maybe, she thought, she could enjoy the garden while she waited. Scowling at the floor, she made her way out, trying her best not to sneeze. Holding her collar over her nose, she stumbled on the landing, but a guard caught her arm.

Careful, he said.

Looking up, the slam of a car door in front of the house caught her attention. It started and drove away. Sebastian had left—once again—without seeing her.

Doubt and insecurity took the place of her brief touch of hope. Her biggest disappointment; however, came from believing she had no real value other than a useful pawn in her dad’s financial chess game.

Wandering into the garden, she gazed up at the large silver maple. As a child, it was her favorite tree and she would sit in the branches for hours. Every spring, limbs hung heavy with light golden seeds, quivering and detaching with the hint of a breeze. Today was no exception. Sighing, she watched the floating seeds, spinning like nature's helicopters, drifting to the ground around her.

With her eyes on the tree, not watching her step, she tripped and stumbled again. This time, a startling fall left her flat on the ground with her dress hiked over her head. She sat upright—puzzled, with no clue as to how it had happened. Mortified, she pulled down her dress, looking around hoping no one saw.

Too late.

Are you ok? the guard asked. Are you hurt?

Embarrassed, she couldn't look up. My ankle …. Touching it, she winced.

Put your arm around me. Lifting her, he carried her inside. Are you sure you aren't hurt anywhere else? Your back? Your head?

No, no, I'm fine. She finally glanced up. A pair of blue eyes peered down at her through the security helmet. They sparkled like— What's your name?

You'll need some ice, he said.

Grace? Having heard the commotion, her mother rushed into the room. What happened?

She turned to answer, but when she looked back toward the guard, he was gone.

***

In the garden, a stranger stood concealed. With the amber-gold eyes of a stalking tiger, he watched them from a safe distance, and then in silence, he turned and slipped away.

******

Chapter 4

Canada

After many years of its quiet revolution, Québec sought independence from Canada. Once again, the high court upheld its decision; it was not legal for Québec to secede unilaterally. In addition, regardless of the outcome of a vote, the government of Canada had made its position clear, refusing to recognize Québec’s separation. This angered the separatist leaders. They felt Canada had no basis to deny the right of Québec to pursue secession. Undaunted by the court’s decision, separatist leaders fanned the flames of resentment against the government of Canada.

Civil war erupted.

Soon after, Québec’s internal battle began. French and English-speaking citizens began to fight among each other; neighbor against neighbor, co-worker against co-worker. The province descended into chaos when its government began to crumble, taking health-care, private utilities, and democracy with it as it fell. Promises of freedom and a land of milk and honey; the people finally realized, were all crippling lies.

After years of fighting, the Canadian government stepped back, washing its hands of Québec. English-speaking citizens fled when small factions of lawlessness began to take shape and fight for control of the province. Eventually, the smaller groups splintered and larger more organized crime syndicates formed to take their place.

War privateers rose, coming to power.

Twenty years of unrest and crime in Québec became uncontrolled, spilling over the borders of the United States. Citizens of the Northeast took up arms, making it difficult for the criminals to carry out their forays. In their search for unsuspecting victims, they migrated and fanned across the States.

Their primary target—The South.

******

Chapter 5

First Attempt

Weary and worn, but in harmony with his world, the old Rastaman stood on the corner of Fifth and Market. Salted with the gray of old age, his dreadlocks swung long and gnarled to his waist. His clothing hung loose and ragged on his small thin frame, but he held his shoulders back with his chin up. He was a proud man and he smiled. Some days he held a sign—Liberate Jamaica. Other days, he stood with a tray strapped across his shoulders, hawking an assortment of scented oils and perfumes.

Have a nice day, he would call out, greeting the capitalists in their three-piece suits. They pushed by without a glance. To them—he was invisible.

Hi Russell! Grace yelled when he breezed through the door of the shelter.

Hello Grace, how are you on this beautiful day? The rhythmic flow of his accent lilted through the noisy room like music, making heavy heads lift and the downtrodden smile.

Much better since you’re here! she said.

Grace was always happy to see Russell, which was often, when she volunteered at the shelter. His smiling eyes and kind heart left a lingering peace with every soul he touched.

Dinner's rush had come and gone, and the stifling heat of the kitchen became unbearable. Grace needed a break. Outside, she leaned back against the crumbling brick wall at the rear of the building. Resting her eyes, she enjoyed the slight breeze while fanning her face with a thick paper plate. Long, stray, wisps of dark hair escaped from her twist, sticking fast to the sweat rolling down her neck. Twirling the strands together, she stuffed them behind her ears before turning to go back inside.

Excuse me mam, a man said. With his hands deep in his pockets, he stood near an alley next to the building. Do you work here?

She stopped, turning his way. Yes sir, I do, kind of.

Despite the warmth of the day, a blue jacket hood covered his brow. His head hung low but two amber orbs peered out with rapt intensity.

Maybe you can help me, he said. "My young son is ill, and we need a

Reviews for Amber and Blue

[jerrybeller · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is a good read. Has some interesting characters. The story is of the future when the world becomes over-populated and the structure we know breaks down, with unrest in Canada spilling over into the United States. There is complicated romance, with competing interest in the lead female character. I enjoyed some of the stories about real places around Chattanooga, as I have spent enough time there over the years to know most of the terrain covered in this story.

The ending sets up the sequel, which I understand is in the works. I intend to read it too.