A Strand of Bitterness: Frayed Strands, #2

By Tracy Krauss

Jeremy Leming has the unfortunate distinction of being nephew to the "bad guy" - not an easy reputation to shake! Lied to by those he loves, his career ruined, and with more questions than answers about his indigenous heritage, he's on a quest to find his true identity. But will the bitterness he feels get in the way of a new start at life and love? With the help of family and friends, he must take to heart the saying, "See to it that… no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fictitious Ink Publishing
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781988447988

Tracy Krauss

Tracy Krauss is a best selling and award winning author and playwright. "Fiction on the edge without crossing the line"

Book preview

ONE

Jeremy Leming crunched along the windswept and deserted street, his boots squeaking with each step as they connected with the crystalline snow. He was on his way home—currently his grandmother’s house—from the small makeshift gym in the Fort George community center.

Even though he wasn’t part of the FBI anymore, Jeremy still felt the need to remain physically fit and daily workouts were the one thing he couldn’t give up, even if it meant going to a less than adequate facility. He supposed he should feel lucky there was anywhere to go at all. He could be stuck doing chin-ups in one of his grandmother’s door casings.

It was dusky, not because it was late, but because this far north there were very few hours of daylight during the winter. It was a far cry from where he’d grown up. Los Angeles definitely had its charms, especially when one was walking into the prevailing wind at forty below zero. He hunkered farther into his parka, glad for the balaclava that covered most of his face.

Jeremy had made the decision to stay in Fort George, North West Territories, after the debacle with his uncle Reynolds had come to a head. He’d wanted to reconnect with his native ancestry and now was as good a time as any. The farther he could stay away from the prying eyes and embarrassment of the case, the better. The thing that irked the most was the fact that his uncle may have spoiled Jeremy’s own career for good.

It hurt. His uncle Reynolds had been his only real male role model growing up. But that was shattered now. Irreparably broken. Seems like the males in his life were always doing that. Disappointing him.

Jeremy arrived at his grandmother’s house, one of many uninspired rectangular bungalows clad in wooden siding lined up along the snow packed street. Smoke billowed out each chimney, bending to the prevailing wind before dancing down, leaving the scent of wood smoke to mingle with the tingling bite of frost in the air. A couple of houses had a window open, blanket curtains flapping in the wind despite the freezing temperatures. A few other windows sported plywood, not only keeping the cold out, but also what little daylight there was this far north. There were no sidewalks, just snow. A dog barked, answered by a series of other yelps and howls.

Jeremy clomped up the front steps with his heavy winter boots. The wooden steps had deteriorated over the years and now sat at a jaunty angle, probably due to the permafrost.

The front door protested as it opened, creaking against the shift of the house. Once inside, Jeremy leaned on it to make sure it was shut properly before stripping off his mitts, parka and boots. The warmth of the interior enveloped him like a warm hug, and he let his shoulders relax. He’d been hunching into his jacket subconsciously. Cold could do that. Make you tighten up without even realizing it. Last, he tugged the balaclava over his head and then smoothed the coarse black hair he knew was standing on end into some semblance of neatness.

Smells good in here, he called to his grandmother.

Fresh bannock. Beatrice George appeared around the doorway to the kitchen. She was about five foot six, slim and fit with long silver hair pulled back into a ponytail, and wearing her usual plaid shirt and jeans. She was unpretentious, but beautiful in her way. Would you like some? With jam or lard?

Jeremy shook his head. I just went to the gym! Now you want to fill me up with carbs and sugar.

She shrugged. When you work hard you don’t need to worry about such things. Especially when you stick to country food. Beatrice George was a firm believer in a simple, traditional diet comprised mostly of wild game.

All the people of Fort George relied heavily on hunting and fishing as a food source. Unfortunately, there were some who had fallen prey to prepackaged foods, snacks, and sugary drinks, but not his grandmother. She was a believer in sticking to traditional ways.

Are you expecting company? Jeremy asked as he walked through the living room to the adjoining kitchen. There were a couple of kitchen chairs positioned in the space between the worn couch and loveseat. His grandmother was not wealthy,