Katherine
Sharing a roof, a bed, and a name with a violent man for so many years, Katherine had become an expert in reading subtle energies. Jacob was not always outwardly angry. Sometimes he simmered, and she learned to sense his fury even before he realized it himself. She learned to sense Isobel's tantrums and fits while the child was still happy and smiling. She was as practiced at sensing underlying truths as her husband was at spinning lies.
Because of this skill of hers, she knew something was wrong. Melissa's mood had been off for three days. When Josh had come by on Tuesday to help with the horses, the dissonance of his unease had warbled through the air around him like the heat bent the space around a flame. Even the air was wrong, the weather restless and confused. Never fully cloudy, never quite sunny.
And yet when she asked, pressed, pestered, they all just smiled and told her everything was fine. As if she was some foolish child who couldn't recognize a false smile.
Fortunately, there was one person who wouldn't lie to her and he was finally here. His figure was blurred through the glass in the sitting room window, but she recognized him all the same, riding up the snow-covered hill to the house. Pale horse, dark rider. Like death in the book of Revelations. Funny how he had always meant quite the opposite to Katherine.
Isobel had been in Melissa's treatment room all morning, delighting over the instruments and bottles and books, asking endless questions. Rather than run to fetch her daughter, Katherine slipped quietly out onto the porch to await their visitor, hoping for a few moments of adult conversation. A few minutes or privacy to question him about why everyone was being so... odd.
The clouds overhead were strange, agitated things, cutting rapidly through the air and casting shifting shadows over the rolling white landscape. The sun burnished the edges of each lumpy cloud in harsh yellow, their centers a dangerous dark gray. Shivering, Katherine pulled her coat tighter around her and strode out into the yard when Gabe finally drew to a halt. And if she hadn't already felt something was off, she'd have known it when she finally saw him up close.
Of course, it was Gabe so there was no expression in the stone-etched lines of his face. But there was nothing he could do to hide the pallor of his face reminiscent of the gray hearts of the clouds overhead. Nor could he mask the utter lack of grace with which he slid from Reaper's back, standing for a moment with a hand wound tight in the horse's withers, eyes closed as if fighting for balance.
"Gabe?" Her steps quickened, booted feet kicking up plumes of snow and crunching through the old stuff beneath it as she dashed to his side. "Are you alright? What's the matter? What happened? What's wrong?" The words tumbled from her mouth, and her hands acted with just as little regard for the fear and restraint that had held her captive for so long. Cold nipped at her bare fingers as she reached up to frame his face, her heart skipping and stuttering when a smile tugged at the edges of his implaccable frown. It wasn't a very powerful smile, but it was more genuine than the tight-lipped masks Melissa and Josh had been wearing for the last three days.
"I'm fine, Kat," he soothed, rough stubble rasping against her palm as he shifted on his feet. Her belly felt as if it was full of sun-dappled leaves, fluttering in a breeze.
"You are not," she said sternly, pushing the hair back from his brow like it hid the secrets everyone was hiding from her. "Something is wrong. Nobody will tell me what's happened but something has been wrong for days and now look at you!" Unbidden, her nose began to burn with rising tears. This was one of the reasons why she'd turned her back on him so many years ago. She couldn't bear to see him hurt.
How silly of her to assume that in her absence he simply wouldn't. She had only condemned them both to hurt alone.
"Katie, please," he murmured, still clinging to the horse as if he couldn't stay upright without it, but shifting his free hand to pull her fingers from his face, and the smile grew stronger. "I promise you, I'm alright. But you're not wearing gloves or a hat, and I need to put Reaper up. Why don't you head inside and start us a pot of coffee or something? I'll join you when I'm done and we can talk."
"So something has happened?"
His smile hardened back to inscrutable stone. "You have my word I'll explain, sweetheart. I just gotta put Reaper away." His lip twitched. "About that coffee?"
Katherine scowled. "I'm good for more than making coffee, Gabriel. Come on, and I'll help you." Pulling away from the draw of his nearness, the action as hard as if he physically held her, she started toward the barn. He walked beside her, and she bit her lip hard against the urge to comment on the way his feet dragged a little through the snow. For weeks, he had been chipping away at the ice around her heart. Now, seeing him so pale and worn, the ice was melting, sloughing off in great, slushy sheets.
Inside the barn, she left him to wrestle Reaper into a stall and fetched a bucket of water and fresh hay for the trough. From the corner of her eye, she watched him work. He seemed steady enough. Not hurt, then, perhaps. Just... tired? And could she blame him? She was tired and she was sheltered out here in solitude. He left her and Isobel in their safe haven and returned to the chaos and hatred of town. She had avoided asking about Jacob for the last few weeks. His very name sent her back into shallow breath and nightmares, and she hadn't wanted to spoil the glorious days they had been spending as a family.
Perhaps it was time she asked.
All of that could wait, though, until they were inside and drinking hot coffee by a cracking fire. She felt a fierce longing to take his coat and feed him something warm and see if she could coax free the ruddy-cheeked boy who had kissed her in the snow. Or, better yet, the quiet man who had loved her so tenderly and so completely the night they created their daughter.
In truth, she wanted both of them and it had been far too long since she had seen anything but glimpses of either. Like a fluttering curtain revealed glimpses of the room beyond, or lightning flashes cast a heartbeat of sunlight in the night. She saw the boy in fits and glances when he played with Isobel, or when she herself made him laugh unexpectedly. She saw the man in the moments right before he left, both of them lulled, or perhaps driven, by their imminent departure into expressions of affection they otherwise wouldn't have dared.
She did not want glimpses or lightning flashes. She was no longer so ragged and broken that heartbeats of feeling were all she could bear. She wanted to throw back the curtains. She wanted to sit and bask in the sun. She wanted to hear him laugh and wanted to laugh with him. She wanted to feel the heat and give of his skin against hers.
She stuck close by his side as they walked to the house, the clouds still racing overhead, casting them in shadows one moment and blinding them with sunlight the next. That closeness that had been so natural and safe while they walked, and before while they had worked side by side in the barn, felt suddenly stifling when they shut the door behind them and stood for a long moment in the mudroom. He was so large, his body filling the small space, and the weight of whatever it was he bore was so heavy she could feel it herself. Like some part of his spirit had leaned on her even while he stood there on his own, with a foot of air between them.
"We should be quiet," she murmured as she slipped out of her coat and sat to remove her boots. "If Izzy hears you're here we won't have a moment to talk."
"Where is she?"
"With Mel in her office."
"Right..."
If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she'd have missed his wince as he shrugged out of his jacket.
"Gabe?"
Ignoring her, he hung his coat on a peg and sat beside her. Another wince, just the barest flutter of an eyelash. The tiniest feathering tick of his jaw as he bent over to pull off his own boots.
"Gabe, are you hurt?"
He froze for a moment and then shook his head. "It's fine, Katherine."
"That's hardly an answer. What happened? Was it a fight at the saloon?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Gabe..."
"I'll tell you about it, sweetheart. I'd just like to get my boots off first and see about that coffee."
"Stubborn backside of a horse," she grumbled as she pushed to her feet, and there!
There!
A flash of lightning. A flutter of the curtain. A glimpse of the boy as she caught the sideways slash of a grin. A low chuckle and a shake of his head.
"You know it's the same as cursing if you and I both know what word you really wanted to use," he goaded, dropping his boots beneath the bench and pushing back to his feet with a careful lack of expression. She scoffed at his efforts to hide from her. He was as transparent as a sheet of ice. Everything was right there in his eyes, now that she was no longer afraid to look.
"It is not," she whispered over her shoulder as she led the way to the kitchen. "Remember to keep your voice down."
"I'll be the quietest horse's ass you ever saw."
And he was. He had always been quiet, and she had learned it later, trying to avoid igniting Jacob's temper with unnecessary noise. Together, they tiptoed on expertly silent feet to the kitchen. He sank into a chair, the wood creaking only slightly, and she set about boiling water.
"How about tea instead of coffee?" she offered.
"How about coffee?"
"You look like you need tea."
"I feel like I need coffee."
With a huff, she prepared the beans and then left the water to boil, joining him at the table. If he was surprised she chose the seat right next to him, he didn't show it. But even his implacable stoicism couldn't hold up against his shock when she reached out, resting the backs of her fingers against his forehead before dropping her hand to rest over his where it sat on the tabletop. He grit his teeth and curled his fingers, his eyes pleading.
"You can touch me, Gabe," she whispered, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. Even so, he moved slowly, turning his hand over and capturing her fingers, staring down at their connection with the same awe he'd shown the first time she'd voluntarily touched him, and every time between. She could only begin to imagine the reverence she'd see if she ever welcomed him back into her bed. Into her body. Into her heart.
No, no. Now was not the time for that.
"Tell me what happened," she murmured, sandwiching his hand between both of hers. His skin was cold. From the ride, surely, but it felt like something more. Something deeper.
He shook his head minutely before looking up, his eyes capturing hers. The despair in them brought a film of sweat to the back of her neck. "I think we ought to start looking into sending you and Isobel somewhere else," he said. "To your parents, maybe. Or maybe my mother or the Tuckers have friends in a city that's far away from here." His gaze went far away and he continued to shake his head as his words began to ramble. "I know you feel safe here, and you're happy, but I don't think it'll stay safe for very much longer. There's something bad on the horizon and you and Iz need to be far away from here when it comes. I've put it off this long because I know being around Melissa and Amelia and Josh has helped you heal, and that Isobel has loved having Rebecca as a friend." No mention of himself, of course. "Even so, I think the grace period is ending and we need to get you out."
He drew a breath to go on, but she cut him off.
"That's all well and good," she said, reaching up to brush her thumb over his cheek, worrying at her lip as she studied the dark shadows beneath his eyes. "But it doesn't answer my question. What happened, Gabe? To you?"
"Katie..."
"Was it Jacob?" The name stuck in her throat like so much honey, binding her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She swallowed hard, several times in succession, wishing she could appear stronger. When he didn't answer, she cleared her throat and locked her eyes on his. Let him see that her scars were no longer open wounds. She still hurt, would always hurt, but she was no longer broken. "I can handle it. Just tell me."
With a grimace, he dropped his gaze to the tabletop. "He's getting worse," he said quietly, glancing at the doorway although they both knew Isobel was hardly one to sneak about, least of all with Melissa monitoring her. "The folks in town are getting worse. Until the other night, it was still just insults and threats and stupid fights, but they're near constant. Ma can't send any of the girls to the shops alone. Most of them don't want to go at all. Then, on Saturday night, Edward Crenshaw attacked Chrissy and--"
"Edward Crenshaw?" she exclaimed, cutting him off in spite of herself. She believed him of course. Gabe would never lie to her. Even so, it defied logic. The Crenshaws were one of the few couples who had always felt more devoted to God and to each other than to Jacob. They were dull folk, but quiet. Unassuming. And very much in love with Christ and with each other.
"I wouldn't lie to you," Gabe said, his voice a touch pleading. He'd misinterpreted her shock. "You can ask Josh if you like. A few of his men were at the bar when it happened."
"Nevermind that. Is Chrissy alright?"
"She's fine. Frightened, mostly. All the girls have had bad customers, but we can usually tell the bad ones when they walk in the door. Edward..." he trailed off, lifting a shoulder and letting it drop in a helpless shrug. "Nobody saw it coming. I think the shock has her scared, more than what actually happened."
"So you think Jacob put him up to it?" she asked, this time too distracted to linger on the weight of the name.
"I'm certain. He was rambling on and on while we waited for the sheriff. Nonsense about God's will."
Katherine grimaced. That did sound like her husband's influence. In a way, she hated that about him most of all. Well, no. What she hated most was that he had hurt Isobel. But a close second was that he had so badly corrupted the word of God and turned so many faithful servants to a path of evil.
"That doesn't tell me why you've got the color of a corpse," she scolded, frowning at him. "I find it hard to believe Edward Crenshaw managed to hurt you."
That earned her a smile. Not the boy this time, but the man who had kissed every inch of her skin and whispered sweet words in her ear that caressed her soul and made her feel like she'd floated straight to Heaven. The man who tempered his own power, his touch gentle and reverent as he claimed her so utterly she had forgotten her own name.
He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I find it hard to believe too," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "But to be fair, he did have a knife."
She gasped, jerking back and clapping a hand over her mouth. For a heartbeat, she stared at him, sitting there with his abandoned hand resting limply on the table and his face twisted in something akin to pain. The expression was more tired than anguished, like that feeling of completing a long list of chores only to open a door and find an entire forgotten room full of dust and refuse.
As quickly as she could move, she gathered herself and leaned forward, recapturing his hand. "Are you alright? Did you see the doctor in town? Do you need to see Melissa? You shouldn't have come here if you were hurt. You need to rest. Would you like to stay here for tonight? You can sleep in Mr. Tucker's room. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Or on the couch." The kettle began to boil and she tore herself away from him and from her own rambling diatribe. She had been right after all. He definitely needed tea. But if he wanted coffee, she wanted to give him coffee. Oh, but he was too pale! Ordinarily he took it with just a dollop of cream. Today she would add sugar. A big, healthy heap of sugar.
She busied herself at the counter, pouring the hot water over the grounds, her hands shaking as she stirred the mixture. She didn't realize he had stood until he came to stand beside her. "Katie," he murmured, resting a hand on her shoulder. "It's fine. I'm fine. Why don't you sit down and I'll finish up with this?"
A low growl rumbled up her throat, the sound so involuntarily it felt as if a wolf lived within her chest and was voicing its displeasure at having been awakened. "Why don't you sit down," she snapped, jerking herself out of his grip. He jerked away as if she'd shoved him, shoulders falling as he stumbled back, breathing a murmured blend of curse and contrition, and she had to wonder-- if they never parted ways and he remained at her side until the day she died, would he continue to misinterpret her every move?
"Gabe," she groaned, abandoning the coffee and turning toward him. He'd retreated all the way to the washbasin, true fear in his eyes.
"I shouldn't have done that," he said, raising his hands as if in surrender. "I know. I'm sorry."
"You didn't frighten me," she sighed, stepping as close to him as she dared without knowing where he might be hurt, or how she might inadvertently cause him pain. Taking a chance, she raised her hands once more and framed his face, his skin cool beneath her touch, the muscles of his jaw drawn taut. "I'm just worried, and I want you to sit down and let me do something nice for you," she said, absently combing the fingers of her right hand through the hair above his ear as she studied his face. "You waited on me hand and foot while I was healing. I know you're not on death's door but it would mean the world to me if you would let me make you some coffee. You're paler than your horse, you know. I can't believe Josh let you work the ranch this morning."
He smiled ruefully. "We just went over the books."
"Because he knows about what happened?" she guessed, a surge of annoyance rising in her chest. When he didn't answer, she stepped back and braced her hands on her hips as her suspicions rose back to the fore. "Do they all know?"
"I asked them not to talk to you," he said. "I wanted to tell you myself. I wanted to... to be here. I knew you'd worry."
She'd been worried anyway, but she decided not to share that. Just as she decided to table her fury with her friends for helping him keep such important secrets from her. At least his intent hadn't been to hide the incident from her altogether. She waved her hand toward the table. "Just sit, would you?"
He obeyed, sinking back into his chair and sagging against the backrest. She could feel his eyes on her as she poured the thick, dark mixture into a cup. He didn't say a word when she added a healthy splash of cream and three heaping teaspoons of sugar, mixing until the brew turned from mottled brown to an even beige.
She put far less care into her own cup, dumping in sugar and cream and not even bothering to stir. Then she carried both cups to the table and reclaimed her own chair at his side. He accepted his coffee with a murmur of thanks and took a sip, sighing and closing his eyes. "That's good, Katie. Thank you."
For several long, blissful minutes they sat in silence, sipping coffee, their eyes meeting every so often. Perhaps she was imagining it, or perhaps the sun was simply changing angles as it came through the window. But perhaps her doctored coffee really was bringing a healthy color back to his skin. Funny how it no longer felt like enough. She didn't want to simply serve him coffee. She wanted to cajole him into the sitting room and settle him down by the fire. Maybe she would nudge him onto the sofa and she could sit beside him. Cover them both up with a blanket and lean against his side and hold herself close, giving him her warmth until they both dropped into sleep. He would wake up healthy and she would wake up brave, and they would take Isobel across the Bridge and make a new life together.
"Do you want to go sit by the fire?" she asked.
"Do you want to go sit by the fire?"
"Are you tired? Would you rather rest here?"
With a playful roll of his eyes and a huff of exasperation, he pushed himself to his feet and gathered up both his coffee and hers. She could only follow as he walked on silent feet to the sitting room and took up his usual seat in the leather armchair. Disappointed he hadn't chosen the couch, she took back her coffee and sank onto the footrest in front of him.
"Do you want the chair?" he asked.
"No. I'll move once we're done talking. I want to be close so we can speak quietly." Not entirely a lie. Not entirely truth. It was true enough.
"What do you want to talk about?"
Katherine cradled her cup in her hands, the ceramic sending little needles of heat into her palms. "You said you think we need to leave?"
"I do," he nodded, peering down into his own cup. "We always knew it would come to this, didn't we? Nobody in town will understand or believe what really happened. Jacob is telling everyone I killed the two of you or Ma had you kidnapped. If you came out and said you'd left him they would turn against you. They'd make your life a living hell if they didn't outright attack you. And you can't stay out here forever, even if you wanted to. Things are getting worse. I think we should get you out before this thing turns to outright war."
War.
Is that what she'd brought upon them all when she had run away? There had always been an unspoken conflict between her husband and Gabe's mother. Would her disappearance drive Jacob from sermons to outright violence? Was there any way Vivian Townsend might react other than retaliation? The woman was as strong an stubborn as her son. Probably moreso.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, staring down at the carpet. Maroon, with little blue flowers and crawling green ivy.
"Don't be sorry, Kat. It's not your fault."
"Oh, don't lie," she said weakly, flapping her hand and offering him a weak grin. "If I hadn't run away--"
"Running away was your only option," he said firmly, his voice starting out loud and falling quickly when he realized he'd forgotten to keep quiet. He leaned forward, the rest of his words a whisper that carried the raging fire in his tired eyes. "This isn't just about you and me, Katie. If you'd never existed, that man still would have taken issue with my ma and her girls. And my ma and her girls aren't the type to cower and back away. It's a war, but it was always going to be a war. You just had the misfortune of getting used as an excuse."
She didn't believe him. She was more than just a moment. Jacob knew about her friendship with Gabe, if not about their affair. She had angered him. If Jacob and Vivian were the Union and the Confederacy, she and Isobel were Fort Sumter. They'd started the whole thing off.
"So," she said, abandoning her philosophical ponderings for the meat of the matter. "You think we need to leave?"
He nodded, swallowing hard and turning his gaze to the fire. "I can ask Ma if she has any friends down in Texas who could help set you up and get you on your feet. They're not all... you know. They're not all working women. Some are innkeepers or housewives, now. I'm sure she knows someone in Galveston, or someplace like that. You could live by the ocean, like you said." He glanced up, his eyes pleading and so very, very sad. "I can't bear to see you hurt again, Katie. And Isobel..." he trailed off, closing his eyes and dropping his head.
"Gabe," she breathed, setting her coffee by her feet and shifting forward on the footstool. She took his coffee as well and set it aside before clasping both his hands. He opened his eyes and she peered up into them. She had never been allowed to try whiskey, but if it was anything like those amber eyes of his she thought she would very much like to get drunk off it. They were the same hue as Isobel's, but they touched her differently. She felt his gaze like warm water, sluicing over her skin. And when their eyes met...
"I'm sorry," he breathed, bowing his head.
"Don't be sorry," she crooned, squeezing his hands. "If I can't be sorry, neither can you. Let's save our bad feelings for Jacob and those sheep who follow him about."
The lopsided smile he gave her was so fragile, it made her feel robust by comparison. It made her feel courageous and unbreakable and fierce and...wanton. Releasing his hands, she slid her own up his thighs and pushed off the stool. He stared at her, his eyes wide with shock and confusion as stood over him, bent slightly to keep her eyes level with his.
"If I sit here, will it hurt you?" she asked, giving his left leg a little squeeze. He swallowed convulsively and lifted a shoulder with a look of chagrin. "What about here?" She tightened her fingers around the hard muscle of his right thigh. At that, he gave his head an infinitesimal little shake. Satisfied, she stood fully and settled gingerly onto his lap. It was shocking, but also so blessedly ordinary. How many times had she sat this way, cradled in his arm while he sat on some fallen tree or rock, or even on the ground with his legs sprawled out before him? How long ago...
"Katie..." his voice was a choked whisper as she rested her hands on his shoulders, gently kneading away the knots she felt beneath her fingers. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know," she whispered honestly, leaning close and resting her forehead against his. "But you're so sad. I can't stand it."
"Not sad right now," he murmured under his breath, the words a little slurred as he relaxed beneath her ministrations.
"Well, there you go," she laughed, brushing her nose against his. "It's working."
Several long moments passed, but too quickly. Like the clouds that raced over their heads, somewhere beyond the roof. She knew that she was wanton, caring for a man this way, this much, who wasn't her husband. But... if she had drawn anything from the pages of her Bible, it was one solitary truth-- Christ was love. A manifestation of God's adoration for His children.
So how could love be evil?
And how could this warm, soft combination of care and protectiveness that curled like a sleeping kitten within her chest be anything other than love?
Oh, no.
She pulled back, watching with fascination as his eyes fluttered open and met hers. Why did he look so guilty? So pained?
"Where are you hurt?" she asked, placing one hand in the center of his chest. "I don't want to make it worse."
Jaw flexing, he gently circled her wrist with one roughened hand and moved her touch from his chest to his left side. She grit her own teeth and fought to draw breath through the thick red haze of her anger. Yes, she loved him. She must. Love was the only key to open the gates to such a fury.
"I don't want you to be hurt," she whispered, moving her hand back to his chest and reveling in the sturdy heat of him.
He cocked his head slightly and lifted a hand, slowly reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "As long as you and Izzy are safe, I can't be," he said.
What a ridiculous lie. An outrageous fantasy. An absurd fabrication. But she could see there in his eyes what it really was:
Absolute truth.
She felt his fingers move, threading into the hair at the nape of her neck. It wasn't his hold that drew her in, though. It was his eyes. They were locked somewhere distant, the future or perhaps the past, and they carried such an unbearable loneliness her heart seemed to seize and squeeze in her chest, quivering with her agony or his, she no longer knew.
"I love you," she gasped, a tear breaking loose from her eye and blazing a scorching track over her cheek. Without thought, she tightened her hand into a fist, the fabric of his shirt bunching between her fingers.
His lips parted slightly, chest rising as he drew in a long, careful breath, his gaze shooting to hers and locking in place. Yes, she would like whiskey. She was sure of it. She felt drunk right now, and she loved it. Loved him. Loved whatever it was that tied them together.
"I love you," she whispered again, but when she leaned in he pulled away just enough to halt her advance. Confused, she met his gaze, which flitted from her eyes to her lips, to his own hand still curved around the back of her neck. Then it shot back up and met hers, uncertain and pleading for reassurance. Again, she breathed those impossible words. "I love you."
"Do you trust me?"
A little sob lodged itself in her throat and she nodded frantically as she fought to free her voice. When she finally found it, it came out hoarse and strained. "Yes," she gasped. "Always, Gabe. Always and forever."
"Kiss me again!"
The harsh, cracked mask of apathy shattered and dropped away as he cracked a grin, relief smoothing out the haggard lines of his face. There was her sweet, playful boy as his eyes narrowed in playful challenge. There was her gentle, faithful man as his touch grew somehow lighter even as his hand drew her closer.
His lips brushed hers-- a lightning flash that turned the whole world white, blinding her so that the stars never faded.
Her own lips parted in welcome-- the flutter of a curtain, the fabric billowing out and wrapping around her, pulling her in.
He tasted of sweet, sugared coffee. Of smoke and of heat. Of swimming in the hot springs they had found out in the woods. Of a star-filled sky and a splashing, rushing river. Of dreams. So many dreams. Foolish, childish dreams.
She let his kiss reclaim her mouth, which had always held the lingering aftertaste of his affection. Let his fingers thread intimately into her hair, which she'd washed with lavender-scented soap long after they parted, just because it was his favorite. Let her own fingers cling to his clothing and dig into his skin, drawing him close enough she could forget they were two separate people. Let her own kiss seize and absorb all those lonely nights he had sat by the Bridge, waiting for her return. Let his kiss wash over her like the river glided over rocks, carving away all the lonely nights she had spent in bed with a man she detested.
Yes.
Yes, this was divinity.
Jacob was wrong.
***
Yo, I've got writer's block BAD.
In other news, let's TALK INSTAGRAM!
I've been working really hard lately on keeping my social media more active, namely IG as Twitting continues to befuddle me. In addition to the ubiquitous dog photos, I'm going to start posting little teaser quotes on my IG account a couple days before I post chapters which I've heard is a thing people do...
I mention this because my ego wants more followers, obviously. But moreso, I am sort of adopting IG as a catch-all for announcements and stuff. My website and newsletter are still a thing, but I think the newsletter goes straight to folks' spam so I figured social media might be more useful. My silly life is about to take a turn for the chaotic and I want to make sure I have a low-maintenance way to communicate with all y'all so I can at least TRY to be consistent.
If you're interested, please hit me up. It's a private account but I'll accept all follow requests so long as you're not a bot or a person I know IRL.
My 'handle' is @lizptvorik
Love you all! As always, THANKS FOR READING!!!!
Liz
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