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This week, we highlight author Delia Latham’s upcoming novel, Goldeneyes, as part of the Wicked Wordsmith Book Blog Tour.

Synopsis: A man’s eyes are the windows
to his soul … if he has one. 

Deep in the darkness of a
Depression-era night, a man addicted to alcohol sells something precious to
obtain it. His vile action impacts the lives of two entire families, and it
will be over two decades before the horrible wrong begins to be made right
again.

Two young women – strangers
to each other – unknowingly enmeshed in a Pandora’s Box of secrets that could
prevent them from finding happiness with the men they love. Two adoring mothers
who know more than they are willing to say. A newsman with a story he cannot
tell. What is their connection, and who is the golden-eyed stranger who moves
in the shadows of their broken lives?

Excerpt:

(Used with author’s permission)

The old cuckoo clock on the
shelf in the front room struck

midnight

. It’s persistent chirping irritated Jack Kelly’s already frayed nerves
as he paced back and forth across the small room.

“Shut up! Shut up!” he
growled beneath his breath, casting an anxious look at the crib in the next
room. When no signs of disturbed sleep were forthcoming, he breathed a grateful
sigh of relief. The last thing he needed right now was a squalling infant to
further vex the burning demon within him. He had promised his wife he would not
spend a cent on liquor. New babies meant new expenses, and those things must
come first.

So far he had kept his
promise; he’d had no choice. Every penny he earned with his hoe, day after
blistering day in the cotton fields, was swallowed up in scratching out a
meager existence. There never seemed to be a penny extra, to say nothing of the
few dollars a bottle of whiskey would cost. With the addition of this new
offspring, who knew when he would be able to quench the gnawing demon of thirst
that drove him insane? He had to put food on the table and a roof over their
heads. The arrival of more children would only make that job harder, and it was
obvious Annie did not intend to stop at one pregnancy.

Another glance into the
small bedroom revealed no unwelcome stirrings from the crib. A bright moonbeam,
however, lay across the bed, and Kelly’s tormented gaze fell on the lovely face
of the woman he had married. He had considered himself a lucky man when she
said yes to his proposal, despite her goody-two-shoes, Bible-thumping parents.
If he loved anything on this poor excuse of an earth, he loved Annie. She was a
perfect wife.

Their home might be barely
more than a shack, but it sparkled, and she was a real wonder in the kitchen.
He could not remember her voice ever raised in anger, even when he had fallen
through the front door, dog drunk, a week after she married him.

Kelly’s fevered mind
wandered to his conversation with the poor fish in the cotton field. Had it
only been eight or nine hours ago? It seemed an eon; every moment without the
drink he craved was an eternity.

Poor fella don’t know how
lucky he is. Only has to worry ‘bout that pretty little gal and hisself. I bet
he could buy a bottle of whiskey if he wanted one!

With the thought, an idea
was born, full-blown and itching for action. He actually stopped pacing for a
moment, shocked to the core by the undiluted vileness of the seed taking root
in his mind. He stood staring at the crib against the far wall and shook his
head as if to toss out the evil thought.

“You’re crazy,” he
whispered. His heart pounded painfully against his chest; little beads of sweat
dotted his forehead and chin. “You’ve done gone stark, starin’ mad!”

And perhaps he had, for
suddenly he found himself across the room, gazing down into the hand-me-down
crib. He was horrified at the darkness within his imagination, yet knew full
well he hadn’t the strength of mind or will to resist its powerful pull.

One more almost desperate
glance at his wife’s face … if she would only wake up he would have to forsake
this notion, and perhaps he could rid himself of the unforgivable intent.
Indeed, Annie did stir a little and drew a deep sigh, almost as though she
heard his desperate mental cry. But hers was the sleep of utter exhaustion and
she slumbered on.

 A few moments later, Kelly slipped silently out the back
door of the little shack, clutching a tiny pink bundle in his arms and blinking
back the tears of shame and self-loathing that sprang unbidden to his eyes.

Visit Delia Latham’s Web site for more on this exciting new romance novel.