Monday, May 21, 2007

SPECIAL GUEST: Pamela S. Thibodeaux, Author of TEMPERED DREAMS

We have a special guest with us here today at Boomer Chick! Pamela S. Thibodeaux, author of Tempered Dreams, is touring the blogosphere on her first virtual book tour and we're so happy to have her as one of her stops!

Pamela is an award-winning author and the Co-Founder/President & Treasurer of Bayou Writers Group in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Multi-published in romantic fiction as well as creative non-fiction, her writing has been tagged as, “Inspirational with an Edge!” and reviewed as “steamier and grittier than the typical Christian novel without decreasing the message.”

Instead of asking Pamela questions, I thought I'd do something different and post an excerpt of Tempered Dreams so that you can get a feel as to what Pamela's book is all about.

For your reading pleasure, I give you the first chapter of Tempered Dreams!

Chapter One

Katrina Simmons awoke with a jolt when the car she rode in slammed into the bridge, spun twice and came to a sliding halt against the concrete wall. She sat a moment, stunned, her heart banging against her ribs, her breath escaping in ragged pants.

Thank God there was no one around. Reaching over, she shook her husband. "Jack?" He mumbled, eyes rolling languidly, and passed out.

Rage unlike anything she’d ever known roared through her. Fumbling with the door handle, she managed to get it open and climbed shakily out of the vehicle. A groan, more anguish than pain, escaped her clenched teeth as she considered the damage to her car.

"Great, Jack! Just great," she raged at her husband, who reclined in a drunken stupor. "You've finally done it! You've ruined my car!" she accused, kicking the door.

~ ~

Dr. Scott Hensley settled in for the drive to New Orleans. It wasn't a long drive from Lafayette, but a trip he wasn't looking forward to. Mardi Gras in New Orleans was not the place to be.

Putting the top down on his car, he reveled in the brisk evening air. A nearly full moon gleamed its glory against a backdrop of black velvet in the star-studded sky. A cacophony of night birds and insects sang in harmony, rivaling the sound of tires slapping on pavement. Much to his surprise, Interstate traffic was light. At the sight of an automobile accident, he slowed his vehicle and pulled over. Using his mobile phone, he called the police and climbed out of his car to check on the victims.

"Are you all right?" he asked, hurrying toward the young woman pacing alongside the car.

She whirled around with a screech, lunged through the window, and shook the driver. "You drunken idiot!" she raged, punching him soundly on the jaw. She shook him again, winced, and shoved away to continue her tirade.

Being a wise man, Scott stepped back from the raging female as the sound of sirens pierced the air. Showing his Identification, he talked with one of the police officers arriving on the scene while the other officer spoke with the young woman.

"Did you see what happened?"

Scott shook his head. "No, I pulled up afterward. Looks like they hit the wall." He glanced toward the stretch of concrete median dividing one of the longest bridges in Louisiana and the United States. Most of its four lanes divided by water, the stretch of highway passed over the Achafalaya Basin between Lafayette and Baton Rouge, making it a tedious section to travel with few exits. Endless swamps and cypress trees were the only scenery.

They watched the young woman pace, answering in monosyllables. She turned in an angry whirl, gestured wildly, then cradled her arm against her.

"She seems to be favoring her wrist," the officer observed.

Scott chuckled. "I'm sure it needs tending. She hit him."

The cop’s eyes widened. "What? Who?"

Scott laughed softly and shook his head. "Her husband or boyfriend, whoever is driving. When I arrived, she was ranting and raving about him ruining her car. She lunged through the window, and punched him. I haven't had a chance to check on him. I doubt he's injured too badly. From what I can gather he's probably drunk."

"What did he do?"

Again Scott chuckled, feeling a tug in the region of his heart. The fiery little lady reminded him of someone he knew. Two someone’s actually, someone he loved and someone he’d lost.

"He just groaned and passed out," Scott answered, walking toward them. He presented his I. D. to the other officer, requesting permission to check her wrist.

Katrina balked at the offer. "I'm fine," she hissed, not caring about her wrist. All she wanted was for someone to drag her husband out of the car and let her loose on him!

Scott reached for her, turning her to face him. "Easy, Sweetheart," he said, his voice a soft drawl. "I won't hurt you."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and angry, her cheeks flushed, and fainted. Scott caught her as she slumped in his arms. Picking up her small frame, he held her as the summoned ambulance arrived with sirens blaring. Carrying her to it, he waited as the EMT’s opened the back and retrieved a stretcher before gently laying her there to examine her. Her wrist, swollen and purple, showed signs of a break. The golden band on her ring finger implied that the driver was her husband. Other than restless stirrings, she seemed fine.

Covering her with a blanket from the ambulance, Scott watched the officers pull the driver out of the car. Gut-wrenching fury clawed through him when they hauled the huge bulk of a man from behind the wheel. A tad over his own six-foot height, the man was a giant compared to his tiny wife.

Where Scott's broad shoulders tapered down and narrowed to a slim waist and long, muscular legs, this guy was rock-hard. His chest was easily as broad and thick as his shoulders. He had a solid middle and bulky, muscular legs and hips, the build of a football player, wrestler or body builder. From his belligerent attitude, he obviously took advantage of it.

“You leave me in jail, and you'll pay for it, Katrina," he hissed, slurring the words, obviously unconcerned that his wife lay passed out on a stretcher. When the young woman began to moan and writhe, Scott turned toward her.

"My baby," she whimpered. Clutching her stomach, she curled into a tiny ball and wept.

Scott noticed a widening stain of blood on her jeans as it seeped from her body. Pulling her against his chest, he did his best to soothe the trembling female in his arms. In all of his years as a physician, nothing prepared him for the array of emotions slashing through him. After she had quieted, never fully conscious, he lay her back down.

Walking over to the police car, he hailed the officer. "Add murder to his charges. She just miscarried," he growled, glaring at the man in cuffs.

It took a moment for the words to register on Jack Simmons's booze fuddled brain. He grunted. "Don't need no brats anyway," he slurred. His head rolled languidly, and he slipped into a drunken stupor once more.

Scott’s hands clenched into fists and for one fleeting moment, he thanked God that he’d taken an oath to preserve life. He could easily kill the man, so obviously unconcerned with his wife and unborn child that he’d driven, drunk, with her in the car. Domestic violence and child abuse were the two most hated diagnoses in the Physicians Desk Reference and he’d seen enough to leave no doubt in his mind that she had little, if any, say about the situation she was in.

The police drove off with the husband cuffed securely into the back seat, and the ambulance took her away. He watched their departure and then decided to follow the ambulance to see how she was. Turning on his c. b. radio, he communicated with the drivers and found out what emergency room they were taking her to.

“Well, she’s from Lafayette, but we’re closer to Baton Rouge, so we’re taking her there,” the paramedic replied.

Using his mobile phone, Scott put in a call to the hospital he was traveling to and bought some time. Instead of the seven in the morning to seven in the evening shift he’d originally been scheduled, Scott had it switched to the opposite. He pulled in behind the ambulance and talked with the doctors and nurses on staff in the emergency room at Baton Rouge General. Then he waited.

Katrina swam up from the pain-induced fog to awareness. Tossing in discomfort, she opened her eyes. Surprise and shock widened them as she gazed into the soft brown eyes of a stranger.

Read more here!


For more information on Pamela, please visit You can pick up your copy of Tempered Dreams at Amazon.

If you would like to visit her virtual book tour page at Pump Up Your Book Promotion Virtual Book Tours, click here.


  1. Okay, I'm hooked. I have to read the rest of the story now. I have to stop reading your author interviews, it's cutting into my budget. ;-)

  2. Thanks for your lovely comment, Daisy!

    Dorothy is a great asset to an Author's career, but she forgot to mention that -in conjunction with the tour-I'm giving away a discount coupon for 25% off of the purchase of Tempered Dreams or any/all of the Tempered books!

    Simply email me at: with VBT Coupon in the subject line and I'll send it right over with instructions on how to redeem!

    Thanks again.
    Pamela Thibodeaux, Author
    "Inspirational with an Edge!"


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