Burn on the Western Slope, Deleted Scene 5

by Angela Smith | Jul 30, 2013 | Books

The hospital’s harsh beam, bleeping of machines, and stale disinfectant set Garret on edge. He watched the rise and fall of Chayton’s chest, using that small feat as a guide for positive thoughts. Chayton was alive.

Hours had passed, but he still felt chilled to the bone. The doctor had examined Garret and released him, but he wouldn’t leave without Chayton. He’d already lost too much and wasn’t about to take his brother for granted. So he stayed. And his brother slept.

Every time he closed his eyes, the only thing he saw was a nauseating glow of infinity. (more…)

Burn on the Western Slope, Deleted Scene 4

by Angela Smith | Jul 23, 2013 | Books

After an hour of strenuous climbing, Garret was on top of the world. Almost literally. He was close enough to see Chay’s feet dangling, sitting, waiting, and acting as his belay. Another twenty minutes of climbing and he’d be there.

He planted his ice axe solidly in the holes Chayton had already formed and pulled. The ice stretched into space, falling into rivulets and spreading out across the entire rock in wavy patterns. A glance below revealed a two-hundred foot vertical drop, going nowhere but to hell. He swung his axe again, digging into the ice, using it as a lull to quiet his crazy nerves. His muscles stretched and flexed like the ice fencing him. He focused on that, letting it be the restraint for his thoughts.

Reaching the top, Garret swung his body over the summit of the ice and sat beside his brother, assessing the expanse of ice and rock, white and blue. He opened a gel pack and Chayton handed him a thermos of hot honey tea.

They sipped their tea in silence in an almost meditative state as the static air dusted them with ice crystals. In this section of the world, Garret imagined everything could be okay. Experiences like this had led to his interest in gems, which led him to work in the jewel and gem theft program. As the sun glittered like gold off patches of ice and snow, he felt surrounded by precious stones. The stones would grow fragile and brittle after a long, dry summer, requiring extra care.

He felt that way with Reagan. Like she was a precious stone who deserved respect, not an investigation.

“You ready for the next one?”

Garret tightened the lid on the thermos and packed it into his bag. “Yeah. What are we doing next?”

Chayton nodded and Garret followed his gaze to a rock cloaked in chandeliers of ice. Garret whistled. “Nice.”

They shuffled over, Chayton playing anchor this time.

For the next hour Garret sweated, swore, and sliced his way up and over cliffs of ice, placing his screws, making sure everything was in place so nothing happened, and avoided ice daggers. He used this time to clear his mind, even with Reagan, Ray, and Chris invading his thoughts. The weatherman promised negative teens today, but the sun shimmered like crystals in a pale blue sky.

He kicked out his foot and planted the metal spikes solidly into the ice, glanced up to survey his next move, and swung the axe. It missed. He strained again, sheeting away several layers. A large chunk of ice broke, and he used his helmet to block it from striking his face. Finally, his axe cleaved to the ice and he tested it to confirm he had good placement before making his move.

He unearthed a spot and rested, savoring the smell of ice and freshness surrounding him. Chayton was probably growing antsy below, ready to start the climb, but smart enough to trust his partner. They’d been climbing together since Chayton was eight. Garret was six years older and was climbing higher peaks without Dad’s help.

After resting a moment, Garret began his climb again. Slivers of ice stroked his cheek, fresh and clean. His muscles burned, but in a good way.

He focused as he struggled over the ledge, found a safe belaying spot where he could still see his brother, and anchored himself so that Chayton could start his climb.
Garret and Chayton had established a routine while they climbed. Since the distance between them was long enough that they may or may not hear each other, Garret yelled “off” to indicate he had successfully established his belay, then hit a button on his walkie-talkie twice.

He thought he heard something, the boom of ice falling, and though he listened for more, everything was silent.

That’s what was so peaceful about being out here, in the middle of nowhere. Silence. Nothing. Nothing but you and the sun, the weather, the nature, and maybe a cloud or two in the sky. Mountains loomed up and around him, waterfalls of ice drooping between caves and dips. He was his brother’s anchor, and would do whatever necessary to ensure nothing went wrong, but he need not worry. Chayton was a strong climber, always had been, and the two of them worked well together.

At that thought, something did go wrong. Chayton slipped, cried out, and slid down the ice. The rope vibrated, whistling, voicing its terror. Garret struggled to stop it from feeding. Chayton kept falling, falling. Garret mustered every fiber in his body to keep the rope tight. His body ached. He stopped breathing. Realizing that would only worsen the situation, he released his breath in a long hiss of air. He would be no help if he passed out and plunged over the cliff, though the oblivion might be welcome.

Burn on the Western Slope, Deleted Scene 3

by Angela Smith | Jul 16, 2013 | Books

“You have to go see her. Talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.”

Chayton watched his brother pace across the length of the living room. “What? You can’t do it?” He flicked his wrist and cast Aikido’s pole, tossing the fuzz that drove the cat crazy. Hunkered in the middle of the floor, Aikido glanced back and forth from the fuzz to Garret’s shoes.

“No, she’s pissed at me.”

Chayton wished the cat would attack Garret. He stopped moving the pole so the fuzz would no longer be an attractant. “She found out.” It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. “Which wouldn’t be a problem if you’d told her in the first place.”

Garret was an honest, straight shooting guy, and Chayton hated to see him hurt. He meant well, always thinking no one but he could handle the truth, always wanting to protect people from pain and heartache, always acting like he was operating under one big secret. He didn’t realize if he’d just be forthright, he wouldn’t have these problems.

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” Garret said, proving to Chayton his earlier conclusion was right. Garret believed he was the only one who understood the human mind. “If I’d told her and she was involved with Kyle, what is the first thing you think would have happened?” He stopped pacing and faced Chayton. Aikido eyed his prey, shaking his rear. Definite attack mode. Garret paced again. “She’d call the bastard and tell him the FBI is investigating him. I didn’t know her well enough to know what she’d do.”

Aikido elected that moment to lunge at Garret’s leg and attached himself firmly onto his pants. Garret yelled, Chayton laughed, and Aikido disentangled himself and ran.

Burn on the Western Slope, Deleted Scene 2

by Angela Smith | Jul 9, 2013 | Books

“How are things going with the investigation?” Chayton asked his brother. They sat at a small table in Air Dog, just the two of them. It hadn’t opened for the day yet. Chayton nursed a beer, shooting darts from the chair and missing every shot.

Garret lifted his head to watch another dart bounce off the board. Chayton was obviously angry at Garret’s behavior last night. After the game of pool, he’d danced with Reagan. When her body had been up against his like that, the last thing on his mind was being friends. Being an investigator. Being a *** federal agent trained to defeat the worst of the bad guys but unable to do so.

“Not well.” He lowered his gaze, closing his eyes to avoid the pounding in his head.

“Yeah, that’s obvious.”

“You think this is easy?” Garret met his brother’s glare. It’d taken every last ounce of self-control he possessed to keep his hands off Reagan last night, which is why he resorted to whiskey and pretense.

“If you’d stop treating her like she has a crush on you and doesn’t even know it, it may go a little easier.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, you dance one dance with her, then flirt with every other woman in the room. As if that will keep her at arm’s length. You don’t think she noticed? You think she’s pining over you? You treat her like she’s the one who wants you when it’s written all over your face the opposite is true.”

“Whatever.”

Chayton rose to snatch the darts from the floor, returned to his seat, and threw again. “She’s Ray’s niece, and you’ll hurt her.”

Garret snickered. “I don’t think I could hurt her. She’s pretty headstrong, if you didn’t notice.”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t be hurt. Ray was like family, that makes her family. Have a little respect.”

“Okay, well I can’t tell her what I’m doing, now can I?”

Chayton shrugged. “I couldn’t say, seeing as how I don’t know what you’re doing. Playing some stupid game is all I see.”

Garret stole a dart from Chayton’s stash. He flung it with all the force he’d like to fling at his current situation. Even hung-over, he’d spent the day working. Looking into Reagan’s past and making phone calls. He would have liked to have spent the day skiing and snowboarding and any other outdoor activity that didn’t involve murder or jewels or unsuspecting women.

The dart hit the bull’s-eye. He rested his hands behind his head, tilted the chair on its hind legs, and looked Chayton square in the eye. “I’m watching out for her or watching her, I don’t know yet. I don’t know if she’s still involved with Kyle or if she’s running from him. It’s up to me to find out. I have a job to do, and I’m doing it.”

Chayton returned his glare, a battle the two were familiar with and one neither of them would lose. Garret knew how his brother felt about his vocation. He blamed the entire judicial system for their father’s death.

“Looks to me like you’re not doing your job,” Chayton said, interrupting his pity train. “Or at least, you’re doing a piss-poor job.”

Fear, remorse, and anguish thrashed through Garret in a surge of heat and agitation. His heartbeat quickened, his breathing short and scattered as if struggling to find a way out of a stuffy building. Dust. He tasted dust and metal and gunpowder, recalling memories he’d rather forget.

Garret jumped up, the chair crashing to the floor. Chayton didn’t flinch, only sipped from the bottle he carelessly kept between two fingers. “What would you have me do?” Garret asked. “I did a background check on her and Naomi.”

“Good for you. What did you learn?”

“Naomi is from California.”

“She told me that much.”

“She’s a fashion designer.”

“Know that, too. And I’m not even getting paid to find out these things. Why don’t you leave the investigation to me?”

Burn on the Western Slope, Deleted Scene 1

by Angela Smith | Jul 2, 2013 | Books

Naomi waited until Reagan was asleep before venturing out of the bedroom. She wasn’t in the mood to talk or try to explain her emotions tonight. Opening the refrigerator, she rolled her eyes at the upheaval inside and removed everything to reorganize it again for the umpteenth time. She didn’t know how one person—Reagan—could be so haphazard about what she placed where.

Finally finding the cottage cheese on the bottom shelf, she couldn’t enjoy it now. She was having a hard time sleeping, but she’d never be able to sleep if the fridge wasn’t back in some kind of order. The milk leered at her as she reached for it, but came along, as if it was used to it by now. And that should have scared Naomi, at least a little.

She didn’t blame Reagan, not really. Reagan never had much structure in her life and had no way of knowing how much structure Naomi required. Reagan’s parents had moved since she was a child, finally settling in Florida when Reagan was a senior in high school. Her parents had gotten divorced shortly after, and Reagan stayed in Florida. Her dad now lived in California, where he considered home.

Naomi knew Reagan missed her dad. They’d been inseparable, and Naomi didn’t appreciate how Sharon treated her husband of thirty something years.
Finally arranging the condiments, containers and crusties back in the fridge, Naomi planned to have a talk with Reagan after a long and hopefully blissful sleep. This may be Reagan’s house, but all Naomi desired was cottage cheese to accompany the pineapple tidbits. Mint was Reagan’s vice, cottage cheese was Naomi’s, but she couldn’t enjoy it if she couldn’t find it.

Not that she need worry. She wouldn’t be here much longer. Real life called, and she couldn’t live in this frivolous nonsense for long without losing her sanity.

“What are you doing up?”

Reagan’s tepid voice jolted her, and the cottage cheese crashed to the floor, slopping white gunk across the tile.

Reagan crouched to help her clean, but Naomi’s nerves were taut, so she pushed her away. “I’ll handle this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got to stop making that fridge a mess, Reagan.”

“You’ve got to stop obsessing over things.”

“You can’t possibly understand what I obsess over.”

“Don’t.” Reagan held up her hand in warning and stood, tossing the dishtowel in the sink. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t understand. You sound like my mother, as if that’s her excuse for acting the way she does. Believe me, I understand a lot more than most people could possibly imagine.”

Naomi hadn’t mean to hurt her, and she hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but the grasp she had on her control in life was slowly slipping, and it scared her.

She had to get home. She couldn’t live this trivial lifestyle that Reagan was so wrought to live. Picking up and moving didn’t bother Reagan, probably because she’d done it since she was a child, but Naomi needed roots and those roots needed stable ground.

Naomi sat on the floor and forgot the cottage cheese. Propping her face in her hands, she let loose of the tears she’d held onto. God, she hated to cry. Once she started crying, she’d never be able to stop.

Naomi is a secondary character in “Burn on the Western Slope”. We’ll find out more about her in my next novel, so stay tuned!

Deleted Scenes

by Angela Smith | Jun 27, 2013 | Books

Do you love watching the extras from movies of the scenes they deleted before production? I do! For that reason, I thought it’d be fun to post a few of my own deleted scenes.

These scenes were deleted as I was going through my editing stage before I started submitting queries. Most of these scenes were deleted because they are from the point of view of a secondary character, and they no longer fit in my novel once I had completed my last round of edits.

As a writer, it’s hard to delete anything, even if it does help your novel in the long run, and I always save every tidbit of everything I write. You never know when it might fit perfectly into your next novel!

So, without further ado, I am declaring the month of July Deleted Scenes Month! Every Tuesday, I will post a deleted scene that didn’t find its way into Burn on the Western Slope. I hope you enjoy!

Check back July 2 for the first deleted scene!