Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 13

Crocket’s cold nose nudged his master’s hand. The dog always sensed when Josiah was unhappy. “What is it boy?” Josiah moved his hand from the gearshift of the truck to the dog’s head, scratching behind his ears. Country music from the radio grated at his nerves, so he turned it off.  Everything got on his…

Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 12

“Hey, Man. How’s it going?” Brady looked up from his cheeseburger to grin at his best friend who had come up behind him and smacked the back of his head, causing him to smear ketchup and mustard across his cheek. As he cleaned his face with a napkin, Titus slid into the other side of…

Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 11

When Lexi heard the knock on her front door, she knew without looking that it was Brady. Instead of showing up on her doorstep unannounced, this time he called first and requested to bring her dinner. “Hey, there,” Lexi greeted him as she held the door open wide. Brady brushed past her with a bag…

Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch

The crunching of leaves underfoot was one of Josiah’s favorite sounds. Along with the bird calls and the wind blowing through the trees, the sound meant he was where he wished he could spend all his time—the woods. He felt most at peace when he was walking under the trees. Peace was what he wanted…

Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 5

Josiah made his way up the walk with his arms full of grocery bags. He stepped up onto the porch, shifting the bags to free his hand, when the front door of the house opened. “There you are!” Mary beamed at him. “Here I am,” Josiah grinned at the elderly lady as he waited for…

Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 3

The banging of pans in the kitchen woke Lexi Jones from a deep sleep. Suddenly panicked, she reached for her phone and checked the time. Six twenty. She still had ten minutes before her alarm went off. Groaning, she pulled herself away from the warmth of her bed, and trudged to the bathroom across the…

Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 2

  The ticking of the clock on the wall of Mary Bailey’s kitchen echoed in her ears. She tried not to watch the clock, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was growing obsessed with the passing of time. It had been twenty-two years since Daddy died. Twelve since Mother died. Her husband, Arthur, had passed…