Hidden Pearl

When a messenger arrives for S.T.Taggert, unwillingly it is calling him back to his Navajo roots, and even more reluctantly to love. Answering will take him away from his work and all of life as he has known it. It will bring him to a dangerous foe, someone determined to control his very soul.

Something ancient pulls S.T. to claim his own power. As dangers and powers swirl around him, S.T. must connect to that which is within himself.

With love at his side and passion that time only strengthens, life can only grow sweeter ... if he survives.

Based in Oregon, it is a character driven contemporary romance, a story of danger, an inconvenient love, spirituality, and finally the dynamics of life inside some cults. The hidden pearl is that for which it is worth living and sometimes dying.

91,900 words. Trailer at [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aP3duN...](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aP3duNGmPD8&feature=plcp)

Excerpt:

"You Navajo must have as fatalistic a sense of humor as us Irish," Hank said, settling back to watch them through the lens of his camera.

"I wouldn't know," S.T. said, picking a dish from the rinse water. "I haven't been with the Navajo much."

"Maybe it's genetic," Hank mused, snapping another photograph.

"You know," S.T. said, turning to face him only to be blinded again by the flash, "I could take that camera away from you."

"Great expression," Hank said, snapping the next shot. "Aggressive, handsome, still the remnants of bruises to add interest. How about snarling a little?"

S.T. couldn't stop the hoot of laughter. "May all your photographs be washed out and empty of images," he pronounced, returning to the task of drying the dishes.

"God, that sounded like a curse,” Hank protested.

"You think?" S.T. retorted. This time when he reached for a glass, he made sure his hand brushed Christine's. When she looked up, her blue eyes wide, he smiled and captured her hand, ducking it under the water with his where he stroked her long fingers.

"A kiss would be good," Hank suggested, watching them through his lens.

"When that happens, you won't be anywhere around," S.T. promised.

"What do you mean--when?" Christine asked, trying to find the light mood the other two had managed. "Don't you mean if?"

S.T. shook his head, his gaze steadily on hers. "For you and me, it'll always be when."

"Oh no," Hank cried, "of all times to be out of film." In a shot he was off his chair and out of the room.

S.T. grinned. “How do you think Hank and Jerry would feel about us going to bed early?” he asked as he bent and claimed her lips with a kiss that sent her senses spiraling. Hands wet with soap, she reached up to bring his head back to her when he would have stepped away. Lips still sealed together, senses caught up in the moment, S.T. barely heard the snap of the camera or Hank's satisfied gotcha. Nothing seemed to matter but holding this woman in his arms, protecting her, melding her to him. Never mind that tomorrow might make all this impossible, for the moment he would take what he could.