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About the Book Beckon weaves deceit and corruption, murder and mystery, through the storyline like fine gossamer threads. Beckon is read like a puzzle which must be put together piece by piece until the picture is complete. The reader is never very sure of who to trust, and that helps them to sympathize brilliantly with the main character, Tia. Beckon is funny and sad, poignant and edgy. In some places it warms the heart by boiling the blood! Every emotion dances through the story, usually one right after the other. Tears may flow, laughter will roll, and quiet thoughts are guaranteed to follow. Preview I lay on my back near my new makeshift home. It wasn't much really, just a few culverts in the corner of a forested spot of land near Crown Creek. It was as if a construction company had dumped the load of culverts later forgetting to complete their project. I gauged they had laid here for some time as tall shafts of grass had grown up around the objects. A network of branches stretched overhead silhouetting random patterns against a graying sky. Birds whistled and called from the leafy canopy. They weren't afraid of me and I was at peace in their world. The shady glen was a welcome retreat after facing life on the streets. Nature was kind and I didn't mind being by myself. I rolled onto my stomach and crept closer to the bank of the creek letting my head overhang to check my reflection in the water. Of course my image was distorted by the swirling liquid of my looking glass. I couldn't possibly be as pretty as it seemed. "You lie to me Crown Creek. You want me to think I am a princess when I know that I am not." Still, I studied the sparkling reflection of my face. My eyes were brown and large and my face was framed by honeyed wisps of golden hair. My skin looked clear but I could not tell if my complexion was peaches and cream or tanned and leathered, for the water was too muddy. I stared mindlessly for a time gazing at skating water bugs and studying the dizzy patterns of leaves caught in eddies near the grassy bank. On the streets I had to be on high alert at all times. There was no time for laying and thinking of nothing in particular. Street life is an unyielding, grinding, master of survival, mandating a keen wit and sharp senses. On the streets my eyes had to search everywhere at the same time. I trusted nothing and befriended no one in my quest for invisibility. I smiled at the comparison. Here I lay out in the open in the wooded field yet completely invisible. "If nobody is here to see me am I still here?" I asked a creeping caterpillar. The caterpillar didn't see me either, nor hear my query, nor care in the least. His tiny scope of existence didn't include me. "Winter might ruin things for me." I had been setting my mind to a solution to the colder months which would surely come. What then? I felt like this was paradise and I didn't want to leave. I had contemplated different ways of heating my six foot culvert but I wasn't sure if any of my thoughts were very solid. Food would also be a problem unless I could trick my body into hibernating like a bear. I giggled outright at the idea of stuffing myself full of pine nuts, wild strawberries, huckleberries, and crayfish, and then hunkering down for a long winter's nap. It was early in July and I had a while to mull things over, so I pushed the concerns away, preferring to gaze at puffy clouds drifting between branches. A distant motor sputtered to a halt. I heard a car door shut and I scuttled quickly back to my house. I crawled into the back door then made my way up the length of the culvert, lying down on my stomach. I peeked out of my front door through the tall grass. I giggled to myself at the absurdity of actually calling the culvert openings doors. Footsteps through the tall summer grass sounded louder and nearer. I listened and watched as a pair of blue jeans emerged into view. I couldn't see the full person yet but whoever was filling out the jeans was doing a nice job of it. Yes, my trespasser was definitely male and I hadn't enjoyed a view like this one for awhile. Two steps, three steps closer, until--oh yes! The guy was hot. He wore boots, those great jeans, and a white tank top beneath a lightweight button-down shirt. He sat down on my favorite rock near the creek and began unzipping an expensive camera from a bag. I studied him carefully. His skin was deeply tanned. I wondered if he had some Latin blood, as it was so bronze and perfect. I was drawn to the tall, dark, and handsome types. What red-blooded American girl wasn't? His hair wasn't black but dark enough to be mistaken for it--dark chocolate. It was thick and tousled. He ran a hand through his bangs and they spiked up beneath his touch. I couldn't see his eyes although I gauged they would be dark as well. He wiped his hands against his jeans then grabbed the camera and began snapping random shots of the creek. He seemed very intent on his work and he was willing to get dirty to capture the best angles. At one point he climbed up a large limb of the nearest tree. He wrapped his legs tightly around the sturdy branch and then dangled upside down in an awkward but beautiful manner over the rushing waters, clicking the camera at lightning speed. He had taken his shirt off before shimmying up the branch and the tank top revealed well-defined muscles. "Obviously he works out," I said to myself. He maneuvered the tree fairly agilely and I was fascinated by his athleticism. He turned his body this way and that, working the camera. He wasn't your average amateur photographer. This guy was serious. Once down from the tree I watched him angle himself around, snapping reverse photos. He dangled precariously over the creek, aiming the camera lens up through the branches, focusing on the sky through the network of twigs and leaves. He was catching the same scenery I had been gazing at just minutes before he arrived. His attention to little details fascinated me and I nearly laughed when he discovered the same caterpillar I had enjoyed a conversation with. He scooted the fuzzy crawler onto a twig, and then held the twig at a good light angle, and snap, snap, flash, flash! He moved the little creeper all over the place, taking its photograph. The caterpillar didn't seem to care. I never once saw him smile and say cheese. He turned and looked above my hiding place. I held my breath, not daring to wiggle even an eyeball. I kept my place, staring through the grass. He lifted the camera then and began zooming, focusing, and shooting pictures of the abandon culverts. I felt nervous and wished he would go back toward the creek, letting these forgotten culverts remain obscure. No such luck! I heard him climb into a neighboring tube. I could just picture him lying on his stomach, as I was, and taking aim at the view from a six foot opening. I felt panicked by the idea of him trying out the other culverts. I did not wish to be discovered, no matter how hot the photographer was! I thought of the ancient inhabitants of the Americas. Did they find Columbus to be a handsome man? Did they admire his rippling muscles and well-fitting trousers? I wanted to squeal with laughter at the insane thought processes of my mind while trying to be still! I only breathed comfortably again when the guy left the culvert and ambled back to the rock. I saw him reviewing frame after frame, studying each shot carefully. He paused at one, seeming intrigued. Suddenly he looked toward my hiding place and clicked another photo before I could react. I began trembling inside, hoping that he had not seen me. Surely he had not! Surely if he had seen me he would have startled and jumped. I relaxed again when he continued to review his work. Frame by frame he analyzed thoughtfully. When he seemed satisfied with his photos, he zipped his camera back into its case, grabbed his shirt, and step by step, left me alone and breathing audibly in my house. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ribbed pattern of galvanized steel above me. I felt restless. Did I want to be invisible or not? Had I really wanted to be discovered? I suddenly noticed heavy loneliness press against my chest. It had been a long time since I'd had a real conversation with another human. I longed for a friend. I closed my eyes before tears could escape. While my eyes were closed I made a firm resolve. Tomorrow I would go hiking. I needed to keep myself busier if I was to avoid these stupid sentimental pangs. Tomorrow I would once again follow the trail up Crown Canyon, and sit like a jewel atop the highest peak.