I’ve had a few jobs where I was, on most occasions, the only woman around. I spent about ten years as a TV sports reporter, covering primarily mens sports. Back when I was a journalist, there were almost no other women working in the sportscasting ranks. For the past 40 years, I’ve been an amateur sports official, calling football, baseball, ice hockey, soccer, and basketball games. Today, I’m an Arizona Interscholastic Association high school football referee and crew chief. Again, on those occasions, I am almost always the only one representing my gender.

I bring this up because of struggles I’ve had dealing with what is essentially kindness. You see, some men want to take care of me. Sweet, yes? However – as women who have trod the boards in careers like mine surely know – those nice guys can put us in uncomfortable positions.

A case in point: Once, I was umpiring a men’s league baseball game, one of those strange situations where 40-year-olds think there are still scouts in the stands and that they might one day be called to the bigs. So, yes, they took those contests seriously.

All these years later, I can’t tell you why the coach was angry. I had the plate, so when he stormed out of the dugout waving his arms and screaming it was clear he disagreed with my call. As he approached, I noticed movement from the outfield. A quick glance told me the coach was in trouble.

My umpiring partner Don Clarkson – a Green Beret war hero who did two tours in Vietnam – had both fists clenched at his sides. He headed for the plate, squinting at the coach, who – wide-eyed, spittle flying – berated me in front of the crowd.

“You need to back away, Coach!” I eyed my partner, who suffered from Post Traumatic Stress and had hands the size of hams.

Then, I caught movement by the backstop. My sweetie pie gripped the screen tightly. Let me say here that Ryan spent a couple of decades doing security for rock-and-roll bands, NFL and college football, Super Bowls, soccer’s World Cup, and other dandy events like MTV Spring Break and, my favorite, a long string of performances starring Michael Crawford in Phantom of the Opera.

The coach took another step toward me and we were  nose to nose. Don passed the mound. I raised my hand to stop him.

“Coach! Get off he field!”

I glanced at Ryan. He let go of the backstop.

“Back away!” I yelled, hoping all three men might heed my warning. The coach, who didn’t realize he was in danger, continued screaming. My brain whirled. Had I not been distracted by the vision of a blood-soaked infield I would have ejected him.

I stared at Ryan. “No!” I hoped he would stay where he was.

I’m still not sure what made the coach back away. But he did, just in time.

Now, I don’t want to appear ungrateful. In fact, it’s comforting to know that a couple of big guys had my back. However, I think it prudent that I fight my own battles.

Today, Ryan agrees. And yet, every year when he meets my football crew at the beginning of the season, he can’t help himself.  He shakes their hands and says, “Take care of her.”

I guess I’ll just have to get used to it.

Mystery/Suspense

Blank Slate Press/Amphorae Publishing Group

286 Pages

Price: $16.95 Paperback, $9.99 eBook

http://www.midpointtrade.com/book_detail.php?book_id=261955

As a Vietnam veteran and former Special Forces sniper descends into the throes of mental illness, he latches onto a lonely pregnant teenager and a group of Pentecostal zealots – the Children of Light – who have been waiting over thirty years in the Arizona desert for Armageddon. When the Amtrak Sunset Limited, a passenger train en route to Los Angeles, is derailed in their midst in a deadly act of sabotage, their lives are thrown into turmoil. As the search for the saboteurs heats up, the authorities uncover more questions than answers. And then the girl vanishes. As the sniper struggles to maintain his sanity, a child is about to be born in the wilderness.

Years ago, when I was a baby diver, I was on a boat off the coast of Mexico near San Carlos. I had just passed my dive certification and was pretty proud of myself. I thought my new license meant I was knowledgeable enough to stay safe in the sea. That the course and written and physical tests proved I knew what I was doing in that watery world.

I was wrong.

On this day, we were anchored off a small island where we saw a group of seals basking on a beach of tan sand. Dark, rocky cliffs rose behind the creatures, most of whom sunned themselves or snoozed, taking seal naps.

“The females are brown,” the dive master explained.

Later, that bit of information would prove vital.

“The males are darker. Almost black.”

As we were taking a break between dives, I grabbed my mask and fins and jumped in for a closer look. I half expected other divers to join me, but no one did.

“Be careful!” my sweetie pie called from the boat.

I swam toward the beach. Be careful? I reflected on the creatures I’d seen in countless videos, swirling and playing, cute, jovial beasts, suitable for children’s stuffed toys. The sea floor rose as I swam, my eyes fixed on the seals. Several reclined in a group. One large animal perched nearby. Then, I heard the bellowing, like a moose call. The larger seal, snout pointed at the sky, called again.

Here’s where you can call me a dope. Because, I kept swimming toward the beach. Why you ask? Well, that seal appeared to be brown. So, no worries. I understood a male seal with a harem might be problematic, but I didn’t see any black seals.

The large animal locked eyes with me and bellowed again. I instantly dropped my feet to the sand, my spidey senses on high alert. Then the seal waddled off the beach and plunged into the water.

That dark body came at me like a torpedo, barely submerged. My stomach dropped. There was no way I could out swim the beast. I thought I might be sick. Would the animal spear me or bite me? Either way, the confrontation would be ugly.

I braced for impact. But, when the seal was within about ten feet of me, he veered sharply to the right, and disappeared under the water. I stood frozen, wondering if he might attack from a different angle.

Nothing happened.

I waited.

Then, the seal roared up onto the beach, flipped around and bellowed again. I didn’t need a second invitation to leave. I turned and swam back to the boat, kicking as hard as I could, all the while wondering if the seal was on my tail.

“You’re lucky,” my sweetie pie said, as he helped me into the boat. “You could have been bitten.”

I was breathing heavily as I stared at the beach. The male seal – that I later learned was called the beach master, meaning the animal that owned and protected the harem – stood defiantly on the sand, still gazing in my direction.

Today, I realize that I will always be just a visitor in the sea. And, if I am to survive as a guest in that world, I must always be respectful and vigilant, or I might end up with some bite marks.

Mystery/Suspense

Blank Slate Press/Amphorae Publishing Group

286 Pages

Price: $16.95 Paperback, $9.99 eBook

http://www.midpointtrade.com/book_detail.php?book_id=261955

As a Vietnam veteran and former Special Forces sniper descends into the throes of mental illness, he latches onto a lonely pregnant teenager and a group of Pentecostal zealots – the Children of Light – who have been waiting over thirty years in the Arizona desert for Armageddon. When the Amtrak Sunset Limited, a passenger train en route to Los Angeles, is derailed in their midst in a deadly act of sabotage, their lives are thrown into turmoil. As the search for the saboteurs heats up, the authorities uncover more questions than answers. And then the girl vanishes. As the sniper struggles to maintain his sanity, a child is about to be born in the wilderness.

“Ms. Montgomery, there’s a cat outside.”

Two of my students stared at me.

“Go and get it,” I said, immediately rethinking that idea after they’d left the room. I hoped the cat wasn’t mean or scared and left the kids with bloody gashes. I tried to stop them, but they were gone.

A short time later they returned, sans cat. “We couldn’t catch it,” they said in unison.

“OK.” I was relieved, but just momentarily.

“It’s so hot out there and the cat is panting.”

I looked at the sweet girl who tried to rescue the animal. “Is it hurt?”

“I don’t know.”

Crap! I’ve had more kitties than I can count over the years. Strays and cats who’d wound up in shelters. But I didn’t want another one. I still had three furry felines – down from seven – most of whom died after long, pleasant lives. And a big cattle dog, as well.

The problem is, I’m getting older, and whenever I’m faced with a new pet I start doing the math. If said animal lives 15 years, how old will I be? What if I die? Who will take care of them.  While I know my sweetie pie is as devoted to our four-legged friends as I am, what if we both died?

“So, you think the cat might be injured?” I said again.

She shrugged.

“Let’s go.” I led my students outside and found a sleek, black, kitty with big gold eyes. The creature meowed and ran right to me. I picked him up and prepared to be speared with curved, pointy claws, but he just laid his head on my shoulder, clearly no feral beast.

As it was lunchtime, I put the young cat in my office and, as I ate, he jumped into my chair, curled into a ball and slept at my side. “Well, aren’t you a sweet boy.” I patted his head and he purred loudly. I squinted as he closed his eyes. “But I don’t want another cat.” He ignored me.

Later, the girl who found him appeared and said she wanted to take the cat home. “My mom said it would be OK.”

I looked at the kitty and he stared back at me. “Great!” I said, not feeling great at all. “Let’s find a box.”

After we placed the cat in the container, I waved and watched her walk away. I admit, I was a bit sad. Still, I’d done the right thing.

“We found a cat at school today.”

My sweetie pie peered at me over his glasses, then glanced around the room.

“You’ll be proud of me. I found him a nice home.”

He raised both eyebrows, and didn’t have to say, How unlike you to not bring it home.

Later, I thought about the cat and decided to call the girl’s home to make sure he was settling in. Her father answered the phone.

“I don’t want a cat!” he said, an edge to his voice. “I don’t like cats. I don’t want it in my house. If she keeps it, we’ll put it in a cage in the backyard.”

I sat up. It was close to 110 degrees in the Arizona desert that day. “A cage?” I jotted down the address. “I’ll be right there.”

An hour later, I released the kitty in my living room, and he quickly made friends with Westin, my deaf Bombay cat. And then I noticed the similarity. They were almost identical. They nuzzled one another and again I realized this cat was no stray. He belonged to someone. He blinked at me and meowed. “No, my friend. I can’t get attached to you.”

A few days later, the vet waved a hand-held machine over the cat’s shiny fur. My heart beat quickly. A chip would be good,” I told myself. I’ll take him back to his owners, who are surely missing him.

“No chip.” The vet said.

I exhaled, then stared at my new kitty, who the vet informed me was just a baby at ten months old. I started to do the math, then stopped. I realized it didn’t matter that I’d be pushing eighty when he reached 15. As much as I tried to deny it, this cat was mine.

He head butted my hand and stared at me with those huge gold eyes.

We call him Morgan.

Mystery/Suspense

Blank Slate Press/Amphorae Publishing Group

286 Pages

Price: $16.95 Paperback, $9.99 eBook

http://www.midpointtrade.com/book_detail.php?book_id=261955

As a Vietnam veteran and former Special Forces sniper descends into the throes of mental illness, he latches onto a lonely pregnant teenager and a group of Pentecostal zealots – the Children of Light – who have been waiting over thirty years in the Arizona desert for Armageddon. When the Amtrak Sunset Limited, a passenger train en route to Los Angeles, is derailed in their midst in a deadly act of sabotage, their lives are thrown into turmoil. As the search for the saboteurs heats up, the authorities uncover more questions than answers. And then the girl vanishes. As the sniper struggles to maintain his sanity, a child is about to be born in the wilderness.