Introducing Still Guilty (April 2010)

This is Book III in the Guilty series. This is a scene taken from Chapter 2, concerning Cheney's surrogate grandmother shooting their father.

Dr. Rainey Reynolds didn’t understand his twin sister, Cheney Reynolds Jamieson. She was sleeping with the enemy—not in bed, but she was guilty by association. He was seconds away from demanding to know where her family allegiance lay as they engaged in a fierce stare-down duel.
They were outside their parents’ palatial home, which was tucked behind a tree-lined block on Westmoreland Avenue in the Central West End, an affluent area within St. Louis city. The fifteen-room, three-story stone-and-brick mansion was daunting. Once a person entered, the feeling of being swallowed up wasn’t an exaggeration.
Rainey hovered four inches over Cheney, but that didn’t intimidate her. Not much of anything did. Naturally beautiful, people wouldn’t believe she was as tough and stubborn as she was.
“Remember the family pact?” He blinked, losing the battle.
Frowning, Cheney squinted. “Nope.” She jutted her chin higher and folded her arms, indicating she had time for an explanation.
“The unspoken rule,” he stated, hissing. “If somebody talks about your mama, it’s fighting words, or if someone jumps your sister or brother, we all fight.”
“We’re thirty-three years old. I’ve long ago put away childish things.” Cheney turned to terminate their conversation. As she began to step down the brick-covered circular steps, he reached out and stopped her, causing Cheney to teeter on the edge.
Glancing over his shoulder, Rainey double-checked their privacy. He wanted to make sure their bickering hadn’t summoned their parents’ housekeeper, Miss Mattie, to investigate the disturbance.
“It’s the same concept, twin. We should stick together in this crisis.” He interlocked his hands. “Traitor,” he bit out with venom then added a few profane words, which forced Cheney to blink. Tilting his head, Rainey gave her a look that was mean enough for a burglar to think twice about breaking and entering. “You don’t get it, do you? If my so-called friend hurt one of my family members, it would be over, and my cut would be clean.”
Cheney sighed and offered a strained smile. “Ever heard of forgiveness?”
“No.” Rainey wanted to shake his sister until her dead brain cells came alive or fell out. She saw nothing wrong with befriending a woman who wanted their father dead.
He didn’t care that Cheney had moved next door to Mrs. Beacon, who fabricated a lie that their upstanding father was a hit and run driver who mowed down her husband. Who knew that Mrs. Beacon would take it a step further and try to harm their father? Now, their father had to go on trial for an alleged hit and run fatal accident, which was ridiculous. It was mind boggling that Cheney still maintained a friendship with the lady.
“Not when it comes to my enemies, Cheney. I happen to be selective about extending amnesty.” Rainey tried to control his temper and non-existent high blood pressure, a condition that would surely surface once the trial portraying his father as a murderer was over.
“God’s trying to get someone’s attention. No, make that a whole lot of folks’ attention.” She waved her hand in the air, stepping closer.
“Well, the Lord’s got it, because every media outlet in the area is probably enjoying this.” When she reached out to touch him, he moved back, disturbing a pillar of flowers.
“Rainey, this is not about you.”
He grunted in disgust, jiggling keys to his black metallic BMW. The jiggling was a habit that annoyed others; still, he allowed the nuisance to fester when he was irritated.
“That’s where you’re wrong, twin. This is about the Reynolds family, our reputation, and integrity. I will not believe our father intentionally ran over Mrs. Beacon’s husband with his car and then cowardly left a man to die. Not only can he lose his medical license, he can go to prison for something he didn’t do. It’s a good thing that bullet grazed his shoulder, or he would’ve been dead.”

August 2009 Not Guilty of Love Excerpt

Hallison was a mess, from her hair to her clothes, but her heart had taken the biggest hit. The truth was Hallison had a tiny seed of hope that it was God’s will that she and Malcolm would find their way back to each other. After seeing Malcolm and Lisa, there was no hope to keep alive.
She had exactly three blocks to get her mind together before returning to work. That gave her less than a quarter of a mile for her tears to mingle with the downpour that had already drenched her. Hallison gave herself a pep talk. “This too shall pass.” She forced a smile to curious onlookers who also had been targets from the rain. “That’s it. I need someone, too, Lord.” Her only consolation was at least Alexis had dolled her up for the competition.
All she wanted to do was go home and climb in the bed, then pig out on ramen noodles and Oreos followed by a half of bottle of Pepto-Bismol. It dawned on her that she probably resembled Chaka Khan’s sister. Hallison reached up to finger-comb the damage, but her hair wouldn’t budge. Agitated, she gritted her teeth. Hallison wished a hefty bonus could entice Alexis to skip an out-of-town wedding to redo her hair. Alexis would laugh at the offer.
“What about tonight? Oh, God, I can’t miss the final night of the sermons,” Hallison mumbled, groaning. She stood frozen at the entrance to the Metropolitan Circle building. No doubt her linen suit had absorbed water like a Bounty paper towel and shrunk. Straightening her shoulders, Hallison shrugged as she opened the door and entered the lobby.
Ignoring the stares, Hallison walked with her head held high like a runway model as her shoes squeaked across the floor. She had to steady herself as she slipped and glided across the marble floor before grabbing a doorknob to keep her from skating past her department. She nodded to her assistant as if she was dressed for an evening ball and headed to her office.
An explosion of laughter echoed from behind her as she shook her hair like a shaggy dog. Putting on her game face, Hallison slowly turned around to face her opponent, squinting. As her nostrils contracted, she snarled, “If you don’t have a hair pik, Sammie, don’t bother coming near me.”

July Not Guily of Love Excerpt

Malcolm couldn’t stay away from Lisa. Evidently, she had read his mind as she swayed into his office without knocking, wearing another black outfit. Malcolm bit his tongue to keep from salivating. Did the woman know how hot she was in black? She carried a sack lunch and flowers. Standing from behind his desk, Malcolm crossed the room to free her hands.
“Food and flowers. You do know how to spoil a man.” He kissed her hair and laid the items on a small table. Lisa waited as Malcolm pulled out her chair.
She jutted her chin and twisted her lips in thought. “Considering my dad is dead, I don’t have any brothers and few male cousins, I would say you’re a lucky man who I intend to keep,” she complimented as Malcolm gently scooted her closer to the table.
Taking a seat, Malcolm mumbled a quick blessing then ripped open the bag. “You’re not eating?”
“I did already.” She smiled, stretched, and watched.
Malcolm licked his lips after he bit into his ham, turkey, and Swiss cheese on warm Ciabatta bread. He grinned. “You’re a woman after my own heart.” He winked and gulped down a bottle of water without pausing. “Plus, you smell good.”
“That’s my flowers. I usually don’t wear perfume, remember? I like the natural scent of my body.”
He lifted a brow. “Is that so?”
Lisa nodded with a mischievous glint in her eye. Malcolm was falling hard. Getting up, she walked behind his chair. As if knowing his thoughts, she pinched his shoulders before administering a seducing massage. “Relax.”
He did, closing his eyes and enjoying her massage. Malcolm wanted to kiss her, but it would’ve been considered an indecent act, especially if Lilly caught them.
“Better?” Lisa cooed as she tilted his head back and planted a kiss before guiding his head up and down in a silent yes. “I know you can’t talk about the audit, but Malcolm, I have to share this….”
Malcolm stiffened and turned around. “Lisa, I won’t talk about the audit. We gave up our rights, or at least I did, to talk business when we became involved. Plus, we’re in my office. There’s no way I’m going to jeopardize my career with a casual conversation that could become misconstrued.” His stern expression backed up the fact that he meant business. I may be falling hard, but I haven’t landed, he thought.

June excerpt of Not Guilty of Love

Getting on her knees, Hallison crawled under her desk and snagged her new Victoria’s Secret pantyhose on a stray emery board. “My ten-dollar hose!” She groaned and continued gathering her things until she fingered something unfamiliar. She dragged it out of the shadow of the desk until she spied the magnifying glass. Picking it up, Hallison twirled the handle between her fingers as she sat back in her chair and recalled the day Malcolm had given it to her. It was a Friday and they had met for lunch. He was toting a small bag.
“I brought you something.”
“I know—you,” she had teased.
“Great minds think alike. I love it when you focus on me because God knows I enjoy every moment I focus on you.”
Malcolm wasn’t slack showering Hallison with traditional gifts—candy, flowers, perfume, and jewelry—but it was the personal things he shared about himself with her that were the most memorable.
He had lifted his bag. One by one, he pulled out items she needed in order to trace her family roots just as he had done and continued to do on both sides of his family: a magnifying glass to read old documents from hundreds of years earlier; a hand-size notebook that was filled with definitions that was a lifesaver for every genealogist; and a note that professed his love for the first time.
“It’ll take me until the end of our lifetime to stop needing and loving you. I don’t want any secrets between us,” Malcolm had said. His voice shook with emotion.
Hallison sighed as tears filled her eyes. Sniffing, she twirled the magnifying glass again. She closed her drawer and tapped on her keyboard.
She typed in www.slcl.org for the St. Louis County Library, a trick Malcolm taught her to access records from the comfort of any computer. From that moment on she was addicted to the hunt for her ancestors until she broke it off with him. Hallison smiled, remembering how she and Malcolm would celebrate her discoveries.
It had been from her office computer that she had Googled her maternal great-grandmother’s brother, Ellis Brown. Unbelievably, Hallison had discovered an article written a decade earlier. Ellis had perished in a house fire in Kansas City, Kansas. He was a hundred years old. After that Hallison went on to locate Ellis’ original draft registration card where his occupation was listed as a farmer on Wyatt Palmer’s property.
She couldn’t believe he was listed among 150 Ellis Browns on rootsweb.com. “Bingo,” she had screamed, grabbing her phone. After three attempts, she had punched in the correct numbers for Malcolm’s office.
“Winfield & Young Accounting, Mr. Jamieson’s office,” his sweet, older secretary answered.
“Hi, Lilly. Is Malcolm busy?” Hallison couldn’t contain her excitement.
Lilly laughed without knowing the joke. “Hi, Hali. Does it matter? He’ll always want to talk to you.” She transferred the call.
“Hi, baby,” Malcolm spoke into the phone after Lilly introduced the call.
“Malcolm! I found a great-great… I mean a great-uncle. He actually lived in Kansas City…” She rambled in fragmented sentences.
He listened between humorous grunts. “When did he die?”
“March 1993, in a house fire. What a bummer.” Her heart pounded in excitement and disappointment.
“I can’t believe Ellis Brown lived to be one hundred and was only three hours away. Why couldn’t he have held off that last cigarette until I found him before he set the house on fire while he slept?” The online obit had led her to cousins she had never known existed.
Those were moments of bliss she didn’t want to forget. It had been months since she searched through the Heritage Quest database. Although it held most records from 1790, Hallison’s search for Ellis’ grandmother, Minerva Palmer Lambert, prior to 1870 was stalled.
Minerva was born about 1848, and Hallison hadn’t determined if her third great-grandmother was owned by Monroe County, Arkansas, attorney Jno Palmer. So on the 1860 slave schedule, Hallison began searching for Minerva Palmer Lambert as a twelve-year-old slave girl. When she couldn’t find any matches with his slave girls, Hallison gave up.
Pecking away on the keyboards, Hallison gnawed on her lip as she uncovered another possible prospect—Eliza Palmer. She had traveled from North Carolina in the 1850s to take possession of Palmer slaves that included three mulatto fugitives. Hallison grinned at the possibility of renegade ancestors.
Moving closer to the screen, she peered through the magnifying glass. “C’mon, Minerva Palmer, where are you? Who owned you last?”
“Who owned whom?” Ursula asked as she breezed into Hallison’s office unannounced.
Hallison dropped her magnifying glass and lost her place. “Do you ever knock? I could’ve been in a meeting or interviewing a candidate.”
Shrugging unapologetically, Ursula claimed a chair. She sported an auburn pageboy wig that happened to complement her tan suit. “Hey, I tapped on your door a few times. When your assistant walked by, she said it was okay for me come in.” She twisted her thin lips. “Now, who owned somebody, and since when do you need bifocals?”
Shaking her head, Hallison shoved the instrument back inside her desk drawer. “Oh, nothing.”
Ursula pointed an unpolished finger, which meant she had an upcoming manicure appointment. “If it’s ‘oh nothing’ from you, then I interpret that to mean it’s ‘oh something.’”
Hallison cleared her throat. “I had a genealogy urge, and I found something that might be connected to my ancestors, but I’m not sure. Malcolm could’ve found it in less than thirty seconds,” Hallison mumbled.
“Malcolm. Umm-hmm, that name sounds familiar.” Ursula worried one wayward hair strand that religiously sprouted on her chin the day before her hair appointment. Suddenly, she sat straighter and leaned forward. “Because it is familiar. Why don’t you call the man?”
“And say what? Malcolm, you’re perfect and I’ve turned you into a monster since I chose God over you. I’m sorry, you’re more important. Have you found a replacement for me, yet? Well, I haven’t either, so do you want to get back together until God tells me to dump you again?”
“Humph, sounds good to me. You never know. A brief fling might do you two some good. Listen, Hallison, even I know what you want even if I never hear you say it.”
Rocking back in her chair, Hallison closed her eyes. “Yeah, but it ain’t what God wants.”
Ursula stood and slammed her palms on Hallison’s desk to get her attention. When she did, Ursula pointed from her eyes to Hallison then back again. “Explain this to me again. How do you know it was God talking to you? What exactly did He say?” She shook her head, not waiting for an answer. “Personally, I still think it was just your imagination.”
“Believe me, if it was my imagination, it would be filled with things I could do with Malcolm, not without him. Plus, there is a scripture in the Bible that says God’s sheep know His voice. Same as a pet who after having got away, hears its owner’s voice and comes running.”
Ursula tsked. “So God has reduced you to a pet, huh? Hallison, this almost sounds like a cult.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs.
As if for the first time, Hallison saw Malcolm’s confusion through Ursula’s eyes. Ursula wasn’t convinced God would or could reach out and touch an individual. Hallison had failed to win over Malcolm; she hoped she did a better job with Ursula. “Believe me, I heard a personal message from God. I had to choose between my lifestyle or God’s.”
Ursula frowned, unconvinced. “Well, I think you made the wrong choice.”

May excerpt of Not Guilty of Love

“Who told you to let peace go? Speak up! God can’t hear you,” the pastor of Faith Miracle Church preached the following morning.

Hallison sat in her usual pew, next to Parke and Cheney. One familiar space next to them was missing. Hallison scanned the sanctuary and spotted Mrs. Beacon on the opposite side near the back.

“What part of Exodus 14:14 don’t you understand? The Lord shall fight your battle, or ye shall hold your peace? This is not an ‘if’ scripture. It’s a ‘just do it’ by faith scripture. If you drop peace, the only thing you’ll pick up is discourse…” Elder Baylor Scott ministered to the congregation.

At the end of service, Mrs. Beacon, with her head high, headed for the west exit as Cheney chatted with Hallison.“We needed that message, sister,” Hallison said, hugging Cheney. “Hey, where’s your husband?”

Cheney looked around and saw him. “You know Parke. It seems he can’t leave church without speaking to at least one hundred people. C’mon. He’ll meet us at the SUV.”

They walked out the building to the parking lot. Hallison found a piece of candy for Kami as Parke’s heavy footsteps caught up with them. He was snarling.Hallison frowned; Cheney lifted her brow.

“What’s wrong with you? We’re still on church property and you look mad.”

Parke waved his wife off. “Sorry. Let’s go.”

Cheney didn’t move. “I don’t know what attitude you slipped into just now, but go take it back to the devil.” She pointed to nowhere. “What is wrong with you, Parke Kokumuo Jamieson VI?”

“Oh, no, not that K word,” Hallison joked with a smirk followed by giggles. When she couldn’t contain herself, a hearty laugh escaped.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny because I find it downright irritating.”

“What?” Cheney squinted.“That’s the second guy this week. First Bible class, now today.” Parke disarmed his vehicle. “Brother Carr and now Brother Thomas asked if Hallison was my sister and if she was available.” He frowned incredulously.

“What did you tell them?” Hallison hadn’t thought about other men expressing interest in dating or them asking her former boyfriend’s brother to intercede on their behalf.

“You don’t want to know.” Parke opened the SUV’s back door, and Kami insisted on climbing in unassisted.

“Wait a minute. Hali and I both want to know.”

He cleared his voice. “Well, the short version is that you’re separated and he just left jail this weekend.”Giggling, Hallison slapped his arm.

“Why would you say that?”

“Honestly, Brother Carr changed jobs three times within the past six months. It had nothing to do with the economy. Brother Thomas, I just didn’t like him, period. Either way, neither would pass my inspection.”

April excerpt of Not Guilty of Love

“She did what?” Cheney yelled, springing up in bed. The news interrupted her Saturday afternoon nap. Despite being somewhat drained from her pregnancy, she was fully alert. “What did you say?”
Parke sat on the bed and massaged her arms in a subtle way to keep her calm. This was not the way he wanted to wake his wife. Usually, he would massage her stomach until Cheney slowly woke refreshed. He swallowed before repeating, “Baby, I said Grandma BB shot your dad.”
“When?”
Parke cringed. “Last night.”
Cheney’s lips moved before any words came out. “And I’m just now finding out?”
Please help my wife, Lord. She’s going to need it, and there’s good reason, Parke thought. Months before he married Cheney, Roland Reynolds approached Parke with a startling confession. The strained relationship with his daughter had less to do with her long-ago decision to have an abortion, but more to do with the sins of his own past.

“Cheney, I don’t want you to upset yourself. He’s alive. He’s alert and talking. It was a small wound to his shoulder.”
“Well, that should make me feel better,” she bit out. “I don’t care if it was his shoulder! It could’ve been his head or heart. Grandma BB is out of control.” Cheney sighed to compose herself, rubbing her stomach to ease the baby’s kicking. “Missouri should’ve never passed that conceal-and-carry ordinance and granted Grandma BB a gun permit… I can’t believe this.” Tears streamed down her face. “Wait a minute. Daddy was over this way? He lives in the city. He didn’t tell me he was stopping by for the baby shower…”
He had no choice but to go in for the kill. “It wasn’t an accident, honey. I believe she was purposely trying to take him out.”
Tilting her head, she squinted. “What do you mean?”
Parke sighed, knowing he was about to ignite a firecracker. “Grandma BB thinks Roland is guilty of something…”
“What?” Cheney grimaced as she wrestled with the covers, finally throwing them back. She didn’t wait for Parke to finish explaining, nor did she welcome his daily pampering that had begun the day they learned she was pregnant. She was becoming hysterical. Despite her protruding stomach, she rushed into the bathroom.
With a little more than three months to go, Cheney had cut back her hours at work as a building manager for Missouri Telephone and worked afternoons from their home, which was less than ten minutes away. The purpose was to get rest, not be stressed.
“Going somewhere?” He attempted to remain composed as he stood. He suspected her dash to the bathroom wasn’t a nature call.
“Yep, to get dress. First, I’m going to see my dad.” She paused. “Nope, scratch that. Let’s do a drive-by Grandma BB’s.” She balled her fist. “Then I’m going to the hospital to see my dad. Now, who’s driving, you or me?”“I guess I am,” Parke resigned, grimacing.

March excerpt of Not Guilty of Love

“Hey, man. Roland has superficial wounds to the shoulder and upper chest. He’s going to be okay, but doctors are keeping him a few days for observation.”
Malcolm digested the information, relayed the update to Hallison, and disconnected. Her hands flew in the air in silent praise. Afterward, she sniffed, but said nothing as she hurried inside the police station. The lobby was small with a metal protruding counter and a few chairs against white walls. The counter’s opening was protected by glass as if it was a drive-though bank teller’s window.
“May I help you?” a woman behind the window asked as she sat at a desk. She didn’t bother to look up.
As Malcolm opened his mouth, words spewed from Hallison’s non-stop. “Yes. Our friend, Grandma BB—I mean Mrs. Beatrice Tilley Beacon—we think she shot somebody. I mean that’s what we heard. We really don’t know.”
Malcolm contained his amusement. He loved it when Hallison was flustered. She was downright sexy. Malcolm gently scooted her over and took charge. Smiling, he winked at Hallison then cleared his throat. “We would like to pay Mrs. Beacon’s bail.”
The woman casually licked her fingers before flipping a page in a magazine. “She’s at Christian Northeast Hospital.”
Malcolm supported Hallison’s body as she wavered. She searched Malcolm’s eyes with hers before turning back to the window. “Oh, my God, was she shot, too? What’s her condition?”
The clerk shook her head, took a sip from a reusable Big Gulp cup and sighed. “She looked okay to me. We’ve got a running tab up at the hospital because suspects feign heart, asthma, or bladder attacks. One woman even said she was having a baby. It turned out to be cocaine she swallowed. It’s all stall tactics. The officer will finish the booking process when your grandma returns,” she said dryly.
Facing Malcolm, Hallison’s brows knitted with concern. She whispered, “She doesn’t have a heart problem or asthma. I don’t know about her bladder control. That woman is shooting at people and lying, too.”
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” the eavesdropping clerk interjected.
“Why be a saint when being a sinner will do?” Malcolm mocked then brushed an unwelcome kiss against Hallison’s ear.
Stepping aside, Hallison leaned unnecessarily closer to the security glass. “Thank you for the information. We’ll head up to the hospital.” They turned to leave.
“Ma’am, she’s in police custody, so you won’t be able to see her,” the clerk said with finality, slurping from her empty cup.
Malcolm folded his arms, contemplating their next move. He didn’t mind spending time with his ex. He just didn’t want to do it at a police station. “Okay. We’ll wait in the lobby.”
“Unless you’re her doctor, clergy, or attorney, you won’t be able to see her here either. After she’s charged and warrants are signed, she’ll be transported over to the St. Louis County jail.”
“Hali, we can go home and wait until tomorrow, but I know you. You won’t be able to sleep.” Grimacing, he stroked the hairs on his beard. His behind was already protesting a wait longer than fifteen minutes in an antique chair, but with Hallison, he would have to tough it out. “Do you really want to wait?” He knew the answer when she gave him her bring-a-man-to-his-knees angelic expression.
“Please, Malcolm.”
He counted to three as he appeared to consider her request. “Okay. C’mon, girl. I’ll try to hang.” With Hallison’s hand still latched on to his, Malcolm allowed her to lead him to a set of chairs pushed into a corner and they took a seat.
“Thank you.”
“Hali, why are you thanking me?” He looked from their interlocking hands to the full lips he had kissed earlier. In the corner under a dimmed light and no audience was the perfect setting for a tryst, but he wasn’t in the mood to fight with her over what she perceived as unwanted advances.
“Because I know I can’t make you understand why I broke it off—”
“No, you can’t,” he said, shifting in his chair. He was starting not to recognize himself from the clipped tone he was using more and more with her. She was driving him insane.
Sighing, Hallison pleaded, “Please don’t hold it against me, Malcolm.”
One more request from his ex. He turned over their connected hands, admiring the slight contrast in skin tones, his—light toast, hers—medium toast. Hallison’s back stiffened waiting for his response. Instead, he guided her head to his shoulder. Hallison complied without arguing. “I will always love you, Hali.” She relaxed.
“I’ll never stop loving you, too.”

February excerpt of Not Guilty of Love

Not Guilty of Love
Laughter, lively conservations, and jazz spewing from the surround-sound speakers couldn’t drown out Malcolm’s trademark entrance. The doorbell buzzed twice, paused, and buzzed again. As if knowing Parke’s door would be unlocked, Malcolm waltzed into the living room.His presence demanded attention. Without asking, he got it. Hallison’s heartbeat accelerated. It had been months since Hallison had seen him. She had purposely avoided him when she visited Parke and Cheney. A few times they had come face-to-face, but Hallison had a ready-made excuse to flee. “Oh. Hi, Malcolm. I’m on my way out. I don’t want to be late for church,” she would say, reciting a practiced line.His speechless response was also pre-set with an amused expression, challenging her truthfulness. Twice, she had driven to the church and sat in the parking lot, repenting for the fib. She couldn’t keep running away from her temptation, so she refused to bolt this time.Months ago, she had invited Malcolm to what she considered their final intimate dinner. Surrounded by the restaurant’s romantic ambiance, Hallison sobbed silently as she placed the four-carat diamond ring back into his palm with a shaky hand.Begrudgingly, Malcolm accepted more than the ring. It symbolized their engagement had officially terminated and their couple status had been dissolved.Malcolm wasn’t the one who got away, but was instead the man God instructed Hallison to give away. The Lord had issued the ultimatum: Malcolm, the love of her life, or Him, the One who gave her life.Women would be waiting on the sidelines, ready to steal Malcolm’s affections with a no-option-for-his-release clause in a relationship contract. On the outside, Hallison felt she was a fool to let a good man go, but spiritually, as a self-proclaimed backslider, her salvation clock was ticking. To her, the decision was a smart move, one she couldn’t explain, except to a few church friends. God had let her know loud and clear she had to first deny herself of her fleshly desires, pick up her cross, and follow Him.How long would I have to fast until I would be spiritually strong enough to quench my craving for Malcolm’s voice, his touch, and his smothering eyes? she questioned God as she controlled her breathing to keep Malcolm from seeing how much he affected her.

About Not Guilty of Love

Not Guilty of Love
Malcolm Jamieson and Hallison Dinkins have the charisma, the chemistry and the commitment of an everlasting love until God shatters their foundation.Malcolm isn't the man who got away, but the one God instructs Hallison to give away if she’s serious about her walk with Him.Malcolm becomes suspicious with his fiancée sudden religious conversion. It doesn’t take long for him to find one hypocrite: gun-toting widow, Mrs. Beatrice Tilley Beacon aka Grandma BB. She professes the same salvation on Sunday, but seeks revenge on Monday to settle an old score.Malcolm issues Hallison an ultimatum, “Fine, if we’re meant to be, we’ll find our way back to each other. If not, there is a stronger love that awaits us.”Unbeknownst to him, God gives Malcolm exactly what he didn’t ask for—a woman not after God’s own heart. Someone has to retreat, and God doesn't lose a battle.

Talk to Me

On Thanksgiving Day, at nine-thirty in the morning, I fell in love. It was swift and irrevocable. In other words, I lost my common sense. Without warning or fanfare, I succumbed to Mackenzie Norton’s allure. Love is such a strange emotion—never enough time to savor all the sweet moments. It’s hindsight now that I’ve lost her.
Sometimes the memories taunt me, other times they provide comfort. When my eyes close, Mackenzie appears. Her brown eyes twinkled, causing a sexy glow to spread across her face. Her hypnotic trance released strong vibes that were undeniable. She was such a puzzle, allowing me the pleasure of seeing how her pieces fit together. Inside the church walls, she was sober. With me, her mischievous antics would issue challenges.
Mackenzie. The way she commanded her body possessed my senses. Thank you, God, for my eyes to see. With deliberate movements, Mackenzie’s hands beckoned to me, sprinkling magic along the way. Long, slender arms danced with the grace of a swan.
For the initial five seconds I laid eyes on her, I dismissed her until she demanded my attention without trying. A gentle spirit tempered her powerful personality. Yes, Mackenzie’s magnetism was undeniable. She became my teacher and I, her willing student. I chuckle at the memories.
Mackenzie had the most enchanting smile. Ah! Did I mention her lips? They were my worst distraction and her best asset—shapely and full, in a natural pout. They moved like a musician manipulating his instruments. Have I mentioned she was a feisty, five-foot four-inch beauty who was committed to her convictions?
Glistening skin reminded me of wet brown sugar—my attraction. A head of messy curls was her crowning glory. On any other woman, the look would’ve been scary, but it was Mackenzie’s trademark—stylish, sassy, and sexy.
During our quiet time, we mouthed promises to each other. We honored each word with sincerity and care, vowing not to break one. It happened anyway. Mackenzie was to blame, or maybe I was.
One evening we savored the quietness. We were being silly as we watched the sunset at a deserted playground. I spoke aloud a wish as I pushed Mackenzie on a swing. “I miss dancing. The final song I heard was Donna Summers’ “Last Dance.” How prophetic. More than anything I wish we could dance the night away,” I had told her.
Mackenzie dug her heels into the ground, halting the swing. Turning around, she finger-kissed the sadness, disappointment, and pain from my eyes. “I promise, Noel, one day, we’ll dance.” I didn’t hear her, but I knew she was sharing a secret when she always touched me. Now our chance will never come. I hate broken promises.
It had nothing to do with me being one of twenty-eight million Deaf Americans. It wasn’t from birth. I was almost sixteen years-old when the doctors delivered the tragic news to my parents that I had lost my hearing. They were in shock. My mother cried, knowing my family lacked the skills to communicate with me. I’m lucky—no, I’m blessed—to be alive, unlike my childhood buddy, Keith Morrow, who died in the freak explosion near a fireworks plant. He was an only child.
Anyway, I grew accustomed to interpreters signing at events, but it was Mackenzie’s contagious enthusiasm that sucked me into a storm, whirling me into the eye of the hurricane. Never had I witnessed an interpreter wrapped up in so much pleasure and total involvement in communicating what was happening around me. Not only did I see and feel; Mackenzie made me believe I could hear the choir’s rendition of “My Life is in Your Hands,” a Kirk Franklin song I had never heard.
My heart jumped at a thunderous rumble inflicted by Mackenzie’s imaginary wooden drumsticks, pounding invisible drums and tapping fictitious cymbals. With confidence, her fingers stroked pretend piano keys. Her expression, most humorous, depicted the altos’ deep voices and the sopranos’ melodious high pitches.
Who knew that when I stepped into that church, I would enter utopia? Suddenly, I felt like praising God for what I had—my eyes to gaze, hands to enjoy her soft skin, and a heart that throbbed faster when she was close. At that moment, for some unexplained reason, I thanked God that I was deaf. Can you believe that? I thanked God for allowing the worst event to happen in my life, because it made me the happiest. How else would I’ve met a woman whose love was fierce and unconditional? Then months after our meeting, I, Noel Richardson, lost Mackenzie Norton.
***LET ME EXPLAIN HOW IT ALL HAPPENED...Read more excerpts at http://www.talktomebook.blogspot.com/

Guilty of Love

Durham, North Carolina

“Larry,” a trembling voice whispered into the phone, “I’m pregnant.”
Gripping the receiver, Cheney Reynolds sniffed back tears. She waited and waited—for soothing words of comfort, shouts of jubilation, or any response from her boyfriend. Instead, silence ensued. Seconds dragged into minutes.
A boom of laughter exploded in the hall outside her dorm, startling Cheney. High-pitched voices consumed with gaiety seemed to belittle her predicament. Fellow Duke University students were making plans for a night of partying. Cheney had to think beyond tonight. Somehow, she had lost focus and allowed her promising, secure future to be in the hands of one man.
Larry Thimes exhaled a restless breath through the phone before speaking as if his teeth were glued together. His words measured, his tone stiff, like the ugly all-season brown curtains hanging at her dorm window.
“Then you know what must be done,” he responded in a clipped tone.
“No. What?”
“Get rid of it.”
“Just like that? No discussion?” Cheney shut her eyes as darkness invaded her mind. “But—” She tasted the bile racing up her throat. “Oh, my God, no. You can’t mean that.” The room began to spin. She closed her eyes, but the dizziness was already set in motion. This wasn’t suppose to happen. She and Larry had practiced safe sex. Now she wondered if the phrase was a misnomer.
“Sweetheart,” Larry said as if talking to a child, “you’re scheduled to graduate next semester, remember?”
“I know, but—”
“You’re enrolling in Duke’s Global Executive MBA program. Plus, I’m completing my J.D. and will be busy studying for the bar.”
“Maybe—”
“I can’t even support myself. Sorry, a baby isn’t an option for us right now.”
Stress deepened the lines in Cheney’s forehead. What Larry said was true. In addition, Cheney did want to be married before she had a baby. At least that’s what society deemed acceptable. Cheney didn’t think about etiquette when she was with Larry. What would her parents say about her pregnancy? Her mother would faint from the thought of embarrassment. Her philosophical father would gather his thoughts before advising her of his disappointment. Her older sister, Janae, would be shocked, and her twin brother—he would be ecstatic. Rainey always loved children.
Sifting through her situation for the third time that day, Cheney had to concur with Larry. A pregnancy wasn’t in their plans. After all, she had won a four-year scholarship. I can’t just throw it all away. She was an educated, up-and-coming professional, but her heart pounded against her chest, refusing to comply. “Larry, maybe we should think about this. There has to be another way.”
“No, Love. There isn’t.”
She gnawed on her fist, crying. Larry was the calm, reasonable and decision-maker in their relationship. He was the strong black man every sistah craved and every woman would endure drastic measures to keep. His charm opened doors for him as if he were royalty. He had showed her how to love and was now the father of her child. Larry mocked her when he didn’t hesitate to say, “kill it.” No, it was like a slap in the face from her lover.
A collage of their romantic moments played in Cheney’s mind. She sighed, visualizing Larry’s long, dark-chocolate fingers outlining her lips when she smiled or right before he smothered them with kisses.
Cheney remembered the night they shared their first slow dance at a campus fraternity party at the end of her freshmen year. At that magical moment, she wanted to be with Larry for the rest of her life. At the end of her sophomore year, she had shared her entire being with the self-confident, look-twice-handsome and sensitive Larry Thimes. I could use some sensitivity right now, she pleaded silently. Didn’t Larry realize how much in love she was with him? Their souls had connected in passionate lovemaking that had produced a little miracle. A baby, their baby. Cheney shook her head in disbelief. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare. “Larry—”
“Cheney. There’s no point to keep discussing this.”
“There is no discussion. You’re dictating to me.”
"We’ll have another child later,” he consoled before snapping, “How could you’ve been so stupid and allowed this to happen anyway?”
“Me?”
Did he just blame me? Larry’s harshness caused Cheney’s head to pound. Her heart ached as her stomach contracted. Suddenly, her prenatal, P-M-S, post-menopause, and any other hormones that scientists had yet to identify kicked in. I am not the one to mess with, she shouted inwardly. She couldn’t talk anymore, much less breathe. Without a goodbye, she slammed the phone down.
It had taken Cheney seven days to accept the fact that she was a pregnant, unmarried college student. Larry only needed five seconds to give a responding, “no.” At least she had juggled the idea of motherhood versus a career, and the sacrifice they would have to make.
“Why couldn’t he say, ‘A baby? Honey, that’s wonderful, or ‘What do you want to do?’ or ‘We can get married now or later’,” she fussed to no one. Instead, Larry had failed the ultimate test. Sitting still on her narrow twin bed, Cheney listened as water dripped from a corner sink and voices shouted in her head.
The boisterous women had moved inside to the adjoining suite connected by a small bathroom. Mentally tormented, Cheney collapsed against the wall, rubbing her belly. The phone rung, but it was her prerogative to ignore it.
She couldn’t stand Larry’s name at the moment. “I sure don’t want to hear your voice,” Cheney said, needing time to think and pray. She sobbed instead.
As an hour ticked by, Cheney’s swollen eyes half-registered the room’s blackness. To wake up from a bad dream, she forced her body to the sink and patted cold water on her numbed, red face. She sighed at her tousled reflection. “I’m pregnant.” Cheney yanked her long, black hair as if she was about to extricate weeds from a manicured lawn. “Career or motherhood, what am I going to do? God, if I ever needed you, it’s now.”