Hi, I’m Harlee Williams, the heroine in Ginger Simpson’s,
Lost in His Eyes, just released by
Books We Love. I’m about to marry Logan Carruthers, the man
who rescued me from the darned ol’ well I fell into at the beginning of the story.
I’d like to invite you to share a tidbit to see if this
story is something that tickles your fancy:
She positioned herself firmly against the wall, bending her knees and planting her feet against the opposite wall. Drowning wasn’t a preference and there was enough water if she passed out or fell over while sleeping. With any luck, she’d just nod off and wake up in the beautiful garden Ma read about in the Bible one Sunday.
The pictures the hallowed words painted colored Harlee’s mind, and her muscles relaxed. Her head lulled to her shoulder. If her time had come, she was ready. Anything had to be
better than the wet, damp hell that claimed her. Her eyes closed, then squinted
tighter against a light much brighter than she’d ever seen. Was it the door to
heaven?
The bucket banged her atop her head. “Ouch!” The pain brought back her voice.
“Holy Shit ” A deep voice sounded above. Surely, God didn’t curse. Then who?
Harlee tried to adjust to the daylight filtering down the well by holding a shielding hand to her forehead. She looked up, but the dank and dark prison had stolen her vision as well as her voice. Weakness robbed her of the ability to stand. Despite being able to focus on the owner of the voice, she continued to peer up and pray. Finally, she managed to see her rescuer’s outline.
He learned farther over the opening. “Are you alive?”
Seemed like a silly question since dead people didn’t speak, but she stifled her sarcasm, not wishing to risk her rescue. “I-I think so.” Harlee barely had the strength to respond, but at the idea of being set free, she found the ability to speak…or croak.
“Hold on, Let me see if I can find something to help get you
out.”
Out? The word sounded more beautiful than any other she’d ever heard, but when he disappeared from her site, panic seized her heart. Was she hallucinating?
The blue sky loomed overhead and the smell of freshness drifted down to replace the wet, musty smell she’d endured for so long. She released a pent-up breath when a fuzzy silhouette reappeared.
“This place is deserted, but I did manage to find a good, hearty rope. The one attached to this old bucket is so rotten, it wouldn’t hold up a feather. Do you think you could manage to tie this one around your waist and climb out while I pull?”
Tying something around her waist wasn’t the problem. Her legs had grown weak and she doubted she could stand. Still, the idea of living appealed more than dying. “I-I can try.” She braced herself with the sides of the well and forced herself to her feet. Her head spun and she feared she might faint. The rope unfurled as he released it. His comment about the place being deserted didn’t make sense, but then nothing did at the moment.
With shriveled and weak hands, Harlee secured the braided horsehair around her waist, and gripped the lifeline with all the strength she mustered. “Okay, I’m ready, I think,” she called up to her rescuer.
“I’ll pull and you use your feet to walk up the wall.”
“I’m not sure I can. I have no feeling in my feet.
“Well, if I have to come down there and get you, there’ll be no one here to pull us both out. You’ve got to try.”
“I’ll try my hardest.” She made a first step and a second. Water dripped from her
body and splattered into what remained in the well. Her limbs trembled and the
coarseness of the rope nipped through the thin material of her dress and chafed
her skin. On her third step, her left leg gave out and she slammed against the
wall, knocking the air from her lungs and scraping her cheek against the rough
stones. The stranger slackened the rope, allowing her to collapse back into the
water. Harlee massaged her burning face and even in the dim light saw blood on
her fingers. She used the wet hem of her dress to soothe the burning and dab
the wound.
“Are you all right?” His deep voice resonated and brought her to her senses.
Wouldn’t anyone who’d been trapped in a well for days be just fine? She took a deep breath and resisted asking him if he was serious.
“Did you hurt yourself?” He yelled louder.
“Yes. My cheek is bleeding and my hands are raw, but I’m ready to try again.” Determination drove her.
“Okay, I’m going to start pulling again, so stand up and
hold on tight.”
Her mind whirred with questions she hoped to ask. Harlee struggled to her feet and took a firm grip on her lifeline. “I’m ready; pull. ” Despite the pain, she concentrated on each step, unwilling to waiver until she reached freedom. Her palms burned and the top of the wellappeared miles away. Still, she made sure she kept one foot anchoring her in
place before she moved the other. Many times she wanted to surrender, but
looking up into the blurred face of her hero gave her the strength she needed
to continue.
After what seemed forever, sunlight warmed Harlee’s face and a breeze caressed her soggy skin. The stranger grasped her beneath her arms and hauled her over the well’s edge. Her feet touched the ground, but overcome by weakness, she sagged against her hero. He swept her into his arms as if she was nothing more than a feather and cradled her like a mother would her babe.
“There, there, you’re going to be fine now.”
Somehow, she believed his soothing words...especially because of the sincerity shining in his sky blue eyes.
If you like what you read, you can find all my books availabe on my
Amazon page. Check them out.
Each of my siblings and I took turns hosting, which wasn't too bad actually. We only had it once every five years - one of my siblings wives opted out. I guess the idea of 14 adults and 23 kids was too much for her to handle, but the rest of us participated.
What started out as a joke many years ago soon became a tradition in our family. Joke gifts. We decided early on since there were so many of us not to give the traditional gift, other than for my parents who we bestowed a real gift. Not that my mom was excluded from the joke gifts. Far be it from us not to include her. I think we all get our sense of humor from our mother. She loved to play tricks and jokes on people. 
Christmas to come up with ideas to give my brothers. Often our gifts would include letters composed by our three minds put together. Often our gifts consisted of something to wear. 
