Firefly Nights
The road she's meant to be on Hoping for a fresh start, Kitty Galloway packs up her son and a few bare necessities and hits the road. Only now they're stranded in the Blue Ridge Mountains and at the mercy of small-town justice. But it's the temporary gig she gets caring for an injured pilot that makes her start believing in second chances.After completing his tour of duty, Campbell Oakes came home a hero to his North Carolina town. Until a freak accident forces the decorated soldier to accept the help of the down-on-her-luck single mother. Quirky and far too appealing, Kitty–along with her sassy kid–is making Campbell trust in the future again. Except it turns out that Kitty isn't the woman he thought she was…
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The road sheâs meant to be on
Hoping for a fresh start, Kitty Galloway packs up her son and a few bare necessities and hits the road. Only now theyâre stranded in the Blue Ridge Mountains and at the mercy of small-town justice. But itâs the temporary gig she gets caring for an injured pilot that makes her start believing in second chances.
After completing his tour of duty, Campbell Oakes came home a hero to his North Carolina town. Until a freak accident forces the decorated soldier to accept the help of the down-on-her-luck single mother. Quirky and far too appealing, Kittyâalong with her sassy kidâis making Campbell trust in the future again. Except it turns out that Kitty isnât the woman he thought she was...
Her eyes glistened with tears, and he pulled her to him.
Kitty drew in a long, shuddering breath. He wasnât wrong about her. She cared deeply about her son and, he had to believe, about him. He could make her change her mind. âI wanted to talk to you. Come sit with me.â
Kitty walked with him to the sofa. Campbell sat beside her and took her hands. The familiarity of the act made his heart ache with the pure satisfaction her nearness instilled in him. He rubbed the pads of his thumbs over the backs of her hands. âThereâs something going on between us. Weâve only known each other a few weeks, but donât you think we owe it to each other to see where this leads?â
If youâre like me, youâve probably heard that raising a child is the toughest job there is. I believe motherhood is the greatest responsibility weâll ever know and the job with the greatest reward.
I hope you enjoy the journey of Kitty and her troublesome twelve-year-old son, Adam. Both mother and son grow up in this novel, with the help of one American hero, an injured ex-pilot who flew in the Iraqi War. I donât know if it takes a village to raise one child, but it sure helps to have two good role models. One summer in the Blue Ridge Mountains proves to be a roller-coaster thrill for all three characters. I encourage you to come along for the ride.
I love to hear from readers. Please contact me at [email protected].
Cynthia
CYNTHIA THOMASON inherited her love of writing from her ancestors. Her father and grandmother both loved to write, and she aspired to continue the legacy. Cynthia studied English and journalism in college, and after a career as a high school English teacher, she began writing novels. She discovered ideas for stories while searching through antiques stores and flea markets and as an auctioneer and estate buyer. Cynthia says every cast-off item from someoneâs life can ignite the idea for a plot. She writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are earned and not taken for granted. And as far as the legacy is concerned, just ask her son, the magazine journalist, if he believes.
This book is dedicated to mothers and sons everywhere, with a special shout-out to John Patrick Thomason. You make me proud, son.
Contents
âOUCH!â THE SOUND of her own scratchy voice woke Kitty from a fitful sleep. The steering wheel of the old pickup sheâd purchased yesterday was poking into her ribs through her Juicy Couture jacket. Her neck ached because her head had been jammed against the driverâs-side window all night. Her right leg, draped awkwardly over the back of the front seat, was asleep.
She smoothed the wrinkles in her favorite eggplant-colored D&G sweatpants and was grateful she hadnât picked a pair of tight jeans for the drive. Things could be worse. She and her twelve-year-old son, Adam, had been warm enough all night, which was another plus. It could have been the dead of winter in... She struggled to remember the last road sign sheâd seen. Oh yeah, theyâd made it to North Carolina, the boonies somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and probably still a hundred and fifty miles from Charlotte. It might as well be a thousand miles if a person was trying to get there in a broken-down truck.
Kitty squinted through her windshield at the rising sun, sat up, stomped her foot on the floor to wake up her toes and then reached over the seat. She groped for the mop of blond hair that would identify her son. âAdam, you awake?â
A groggy voice answered her, âYeah. But that doesnât mean I want to be.â
âMe, either. But I suppose we have to start this day anyway.â
Her sonâs droopy-eyed face appeared over the seat back. He wrinkled his nose. âThis truck stinks.â
Kitty sniffed and agreed. The truck did stink. It had that musty, road-weary smell of cracked vinyl and perspiration like most old vehicles.
