Pacific Coast Highway—need I say more? For anyone
who even remotely craves the place where ocean meets land, this is the road to
travel (officially called California State Route 1). While our chosen mode of
transport is a Victory Cross Country touring bike (for those not enlightened,
it’s a pretty, red motorcycle), driving any type of conveyance along this road
is worth the trip. Last Fourth of July weekend, however, we discovered a new
twist (literally) traveling the coast of central California.
Just south of Big Sur, the PCH remained closed due
to landslides. Heading to Paso Robles for wine tasting, we chose
Nacimiento-Fergusson Road through the Santa Lucia Range, reaching an elevation
of 2,780 feet. The road is described as well-paved and winding with precipitous
drops—translation: no guard rails. The sensation of being terrified and excited
all at once is what this journey instills. Calling it a two-lane road is a
stretch, but the amazing view of the ocean and surrounding forest is worth the
cheek-puckering ride. Being a passenger, my writer’s mind was fully engaged,
and snippets of those thoughts will appear in my next book. It helped knowing
there would be a glass of cabernet on the other side. Oh, the lengths I go to
further my craft!
***
Title: Photographs In Time
Author/pen
name: Terry Segan
Genre: Mystery, Time Travel, Romance
Publisher: Amazon KDP
Date of Publication: November 5, 2018
ISBN: 9781731202079
Number of pages: 311
Word Count: 97,000
Blurb: What if the love of your life was born
decades earlier?
Buy link:
Excerpt:
Trying to reason with the distraught
woman before me, I attempted a brief explanation of the process that led her to
this time. “Amanda, somehow the Collector got this one wrong. All of the men
are supposed to be thoroughly checked out and cleared as Suitors.”
Amanda
snapped her head back and glared at me. “Collector? What Collector? You’re not
making any sense.”
“Please,
we’ve only got minutes left. The Collector interviews and researches the
history of the men for a match then I, as the Photographer, match a Betrothed
with an appropriate Suitor. Somehow, the photographs got switched. I didn’t
know he was an imposter. Amanda, we can talk about this later. There’s too much
to explain. Trust me. You’re in danger, Ronald isn’t the man he seems to be.” Why couldn’t I have found her sooner? I
don’t blame her for not wanting to believe me. I needed more time.
“Amanda, honey,
you have to come back with me now,” I implored the young woman.
“But
you said I belong here. Ronald is my perfect match. Sami, you can’t dangle that
in front of me then snatch it away. You just can’t!”
Taking
Amanda’s hands in mine, I tried again, “Look at me, honey. You must believe me. I was wrong about
Ronald. He isn’t who we think he is at all. Please, we’re running out of time.
I had twenty-four hours to find you and time is almost up. We only have eleven
more minutes.”
“How
could you be wrong? Ronald is a sweet and loving soul. I knew from the moment I
gazed into his eyes. All I saw there was love—for me! Nobody has ever looked at me the way he looks at me.”
“We
have to leave now. I will explain more when we get back.”
“Back!?
Sami, I’m not going back.” Panic crossed her features, and she yanked her hands
out of mine. Eyes widening, she looked around as if surrounded by wild animals
poised to pounce. “No. I won’t lose everything.”
A
lock of silver hair drifted across my cheek as I risked a glance at my Timex.
Tucking the strand behind my ear, I see my window slipping away. Only eight
minutes left. It had to be enough.
Closing
my eyes a moment, I searched for the right words to get Amanda to listen to
reason—a tough sell in this already bizarre situation. I had to try. I wouldn’t
lose another one!
Gently,
I reached out and took Amanda’s hands again. I wasn’t completely sure this
would work, but if we stayed firmly connected, we should both be transported.
Theoretically, my Collector said this would work. He himself had never done it
before, but he knew of another who had tried. Unfortunately, that Collector
loosened his grip at the moment of departure and only a portion of the other
traveler returned with him.
Even if Amanda
didn’t believe me, I could keep talking and hope she wouldn't realize my plan.
Suddenly the clock slowed. A moment ago, time moved swiftly, yet now when I
needed it to expire, the minutes lagged. I mentally willed Amanda, Just stay connected.
The younger
woman looked lost—the effect exaggerated with her short, oversized dress
cinched in at the waist, engulfing her petite frame.
Luck had been on
my side. I found Amanda at the bed and breakfast she set up residence in while
being courted by Ronald. We always required the Suitor to offer a safe living
space for the Betrothed for three to six months during their courtship.
Getting her
alone without drawing the attention of the innkeeper came easily. I wore an
outfit befitting the time period and blended in well. We found Amanda nestled
on a couch, paging through a copy of Good Housekeeping Magazine dated June
1963, the current month. It featured a picture of a woman wearing a bathing cap
that looked like a head of lettuce.
Since she
obviously recognized me, the proprietor had discreetly allowed us privacy and
left the room.
The moments
ticked down. “Honey,” I played for time, “I know you had your hopes up, and
this can all be set right.” Only seconds remained. All I had to do was hold
tight and keep her attention focused on me.
The younger
woman’s breathing slowed as my sense of forced serenity washed over her. The
tense crinkles on Amanda’s forehead smoothed.
Risking a glance
at my watch, I saw the second-hand pass nine and then ten. Ten seconds to go.
“Amanda! Who is
this woman?” demanded a stern looking man from the study door, his six-foot
two-inch stature filling the frame. “What is she doing to you?”
Whipping her
head around, Amanda snapped her hands from my grasp. “No,” I screamed, as I
stared into those now familiar, icy blue eyes.
A menacing smile
spread across his face, looking even more demonic beneath his red hair. He
mouthed the words, “You lose again.”
I lunged forward
in a desperate effort to grab the younger woman back to me. Despite my
sixty-two years, I was as agile as I had been at forty-two. But it didn’t
matter. Time was up.
Author bio:
Terry Segan currently calls the
state of Nevada home. Most weekends she can be found riding backseat on a red
Victory Cross Country Tour, heading for the beach, mountains or anywhere else
her gypsy soul cares to wander. Exploring new places, be it cities or
backroads, is a passion she shares with her boyfriend, who indulges these
travel cravings every chance he gets. The musings conjured by her imagination
while riding on the back of the bike can be found throughout the pages of her
writing.
Author website and social media
links:
Website:
Blog: Musings From the Back of
the Bike –
Facebook Page: Photographs In Time
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