Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

I have been writing since 1993, when the ideas first came into play. Polishing the work as I travelled all over the world, finally settled back in Canada, and have begun getting my words ready to read on the Internet. My focus is split between erotica and the Center Worlds. My erotica is used as a test bed so that I can fine-tune my writing to ensure there is an emotional connection to the larger work that I do within The Center Worlds. I tend to write Romantic Erotica, it can be very hot, but also has a plot that works for the characters within the covers. Military fiction and the Center Worlds vie for my focus with Patrol 484 being recently completed as contemporary naval fiction, and book 2 of Center Worlds coming to life as we speak.

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Contents

Introduction........................................1It's a World for Love...............................5The Great Christmas Artist..........................15Return of the Spirit................................31Fourth Down and Tomorrow to Go......................44Spirit of the Ukraine...............................61Mystic Wind.........................................78Christmas Predicaments..............................94Snow Runner.........................................116Tomato Boy and the Junkyard Dog.....................135On Tiny Wings.......................................151The Intruder........................................162Home................................................175Notes...............................................195Acknowledgements....................................197

Chapter One

The Christ Child's eyes blurred. The once tender, comforting touch of her lips gracing his cheek reduced to memory.

Brian's heart raced ahead of him as a crisp breeze swept through his jet-black hair. The farther he ran, the more his legs wobbled like jelly. Fearless, he halted.

Short of breath, the small ten-year-old gasped, "I'm out."

Vigilantly, the boy walked along the cleared sidewalk. Scouting the path ahead and behind, he searched for anyone suspiciously following him. He slid along the sidewalk, methodically kicking the shoveled snow crowding the edge. Scanning the sky, he studied a clouded array of inverted, gray pillows, stuffed with snow. Trees in the neighborhood bared their branches. Footprints of children and pets littered the worn white blanket covering the ground. The day before Christmas catered to last-minute bargain hunters.

Brian suffered, dreaming about how the auto accident that claimed his parents' lives must have occurred. His imagination crafted agonizing scenarios for he knew no details of the tragedy. Uprooted from his neighborly hometown, Springdale, he failed to find fertile soil at Marian's Home in Denver. Living in Marian's environment of regimented rules stifled his spirit. He spent his ninth year of life in the brick structure occupied by troubled adolescents. Every night at the posted time, he claimed his bed among three others sharing his room.

During an extended recess while most battled beneath a barrage of snowballs, Brian squeezed between two iron posts of a fence circling the playground. Taking advantage of the distracted attendants, he ran much faster and farther than any timed event he'd run against his peers.

What road led to Springdale and friends?

Cold air slapped his cheeks. His stomach growled for a hard salami sandwich. Perhaps escaping just before noon was a poor decision. Ignoring wisdom, he compromised hunger, rest, and shelter. His body lost the enthusiastic heat it acquired during his clandestine jaunt. The cold penetrated his coat. Crystals falling from above patched the white blanket below. He resigned from kicking any more snow. His clammy toes stiffened.

As he approached the corner, he heard faint crying. His glassy blue eyes scanned the tightly packed row of houses lining the neighborhood. A disturbing siren sounded to his left. Pivoting on the curb, he isolated a toddler lying in the snow. Sprinting as fast as his tired legs would carry him, he converged on the boy.

As Brian drew near, he discovered the boy had slid down a short, but steep embankment in the front yard. Unable to correct for pitch, the little tike repeatedly climbed two steps and slid back, again. Failure to conquer the slope spawned frustration.

Gently, Brian spoke as not to startle the little one. "Hey, may I help you?"

Surprised, the child ceased crying.

"Come here." Brian stepped behind him. "I'll help you."

Clutching him under the arms, Brian struggled to swing him up and over the icy rise. Upon reaching the doorbell, Brian summoned help with the rescue. Seconds later, a young mother answered.

Glancing at the pair, she caught a glimpse of her son. "What are you doing with Fredrick?" She reached for her son's hand and led him to her side.

"He slipped down the hill." Brian pointed. "Crying, he'd try to climb up, but he couldn't."

"Well, thank you," she stuttered, "I haven't ever seen you around here. Do you live in the neighborhood?"

"I don't ..." Silent, he almost conceded the brief success he struggled so hard to achieve. Composing his thoughts, he pointed figuratively to a distant area. "I live about three blocks from here."

Despite her toddler's tugging for freedom, she clasped his snow pants. "Again, thank you for helping Fredrick. I hope you have a merry Christmas."

"You too!" Brian turned and slid down the short slope as the youngster's mother ushered him inside.

The snowfall thickened. The frigid air wisped against his neck forcing a shiver to slither down his spine. His toes and fingertips constantly reminded him he needed warmth.

Daylight surrendered to gaudy and classy light displays alike. Business hours expired. Traffic lined the avenue. As he trudged through the slush, a black and white object attracted his attention. Shrill whimpering resounded from a snow bank. Closing the gap, Brian discovered an abandoned puppy.

The small creature struggled to break free. Digging into the snow, Brian lifted the pup. A two-inch cut hampered its right hip. Straddling the pup's legs over his forearm, Brian fingered the wound. The puppy yelped in pain. He gently nestled the dog beneath his coat, cradling it in such a way as to form a tiny cushion. In silence, he felt it shiver from the cold.

Continuing, he finally reached the major intersection. He looked both directions along the avenue. Buildings displayed magnificent arrays of color, each topped with a conical tree creating an elevated electric forest. Spectral flakes danced in the turbulence of passing cars.

The signal flashed green. The refugee skated across the slippery pavement. Upon entering a department store, warmth thawed his frozen shell. The puppy had fallen asleep. But to verify he wasn't dead, Brian squeezed his supporting hand. Wiggling to reestablish his comfortable position, the pup continued to sleep.

Brian wound through cluttered aisles to Santa's Workshop. A young girl occupied Santa's lap. Upon observation, this Santa appeared quite young. Brian knew Santa to be a fictional character. He quickly evaluated. This Santa should have been older. What a ridiculous, unfortunate fraud, he thought.

Santa gave a striped candy cane to the child and rose from his throne. She waved and disappeared into a sea of aisles.

Brian scampered toward Santa hollering. "Wait, Santa! Wait!"

The man in costume turned and assumed his winter throne. "Ho, ho, ho," he bellowed, "what can I do for you, young man?"

Kris Kringle directed the lad to sit on his lap. "What is your name?" The white bearded impersonator wrapped his bulky arm around his final visitor.

"Brian."

"And Brian, what do you want for Christmas?" he chuckled.

"I want to be happy for Christmas."

"Is that all ... no toys?"

Brian hesitated. He didn't want to compromise his identity. Studying Santa's lively brown eyes and peaceful nature, the escapee considered surrendering the day's events for complete freedom. Time dissolved into the puddle at...