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A new novel by Carol Culver Rzadkiewicz, author of Mustang Summer, now available in hardcopy and e-book versions.
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Woodlord Publishing
Amazon Books
Amazon.com
Tammi Jean Cook is sixteen. She is also psychic. So when Tammi Jean hitches a ride from a long-haul trucker named Elvis P. Boone, she knows that when she reaches California she’s going to find her daddy . . . even though everyone else claims he’s dead.
Worried about her safety, Elvis decides to take Tammi Jean to her destination
The two of them set out across America, traveling from the kudzu-choked fields of South Alabama to the scenic hills of California; and along the way, Tammi Jean and Elvis become friends as the miles click by on the big Kenworth’s odometer.
They encounter people like the old Cherokee woman who also sees things and warns Tammi Jean of the risks in knowing anyone’s destiny; and Prentiss Silk, a man with a sinister past and frightening plans for one innocent child’s future.
There’s also the Man-in-Black. Another long-haul trucker, he too is headed for California; and he ultimately challenges Tammi Jean to explore the darker side of being psychic. When she does, however, what Tammi Jean learns changes lives . . . and changes them forever.
Excerpt
After Elvis locked the truck’s cab, Tammi Jean fell into step behind him as he made a beeline for the diner’s front door. They were halfway across the parking lock, when she glanced at a midnight blue Peterbilt and froze in mid-stride.
The truck was spotless, and its body and chrome exhausts gleamed in the sun. On the door was a picture of a silver wolf, with red eyes, and underneath the picture were the words “Alpha Male—Leader of the Pack.”
Tammi Jean felt a shiver work its icy way up her backbone to settle at the nape of her neck.
“Tammi Jean,” Elvis called as he looked back over his shoulder. “You coming or not?”
She closed her eyes.
“Tammi Jean, you all right?”
Flinching, she opened her eyes as a great wave of nausea washed over her. Her hands began to tremble, and she was helpless to stop them. “Elvis,” she whispered. “That truck, there’s—”
Now walking back toward her, he said, “You don’t look so good. Maybe you oughta get outta this heat.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the heat. It’s—”
“You folks got a problem?” a man asked as the door of the Peterbilt swung open. Stepping down, he slammed the door. Dressed all in black—T-shirt, jeans, boots, even his cowboy hat—he was wearing dark reflective sunglasses that made it impossible to see his eyes.
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