Today I am on the blog tour for the book, Watchers of Pancarrack Moor. Thanks to the author Terri Nixon I can share a short extract of the book to whet your appetite. First, check out the blurb and then onto the exciting part of a sneak peak of the book.

Blurb

1931, Cornwall.

Gwenna Rosdew had no choice but to step up as head of the family after her father was arrested for his role in a smuggling scandal. As his release date nears, she must start planning her own future – but when her journey of self-discovery leads her down an unexpected path, Gwenna must decide just how much danger she is willing to endure.

Meanwhile, a menacing discontent grows within Dartmoor Prison, and a young convict must quickly find his feet after making powerful enemies on both sides of the wall. As the rumblings threaten to erupt into a full-scale riot, Daniel must put his faith in an unlikely ally, or risk not making it out of the prison alive.

When explosive events cause their two worlds to collide, the lines between right and wrong begin to blur, and both Gwenna and Daniel must decide which side of that line they are prepared to stand on . . .

Extract

Geordie walked slowly back towards the village, his mind moving ahead to next Thursday and the visit to his daughter. He tried to suppress his uncharitable thoughts towards Roderick Lawton; the man had actually seemed pretty decent, and he was only trying to make the best of a difficult situation. But the thought of Tilly calling him ‘Daddy’ cut deeper than Geordie had expected it to, although he himself had to accept the blame – so much damage had been done by the way he’d left his family behind, and it was time to put things right. If it wasn’t too late.

The road was deserted as he passed the church, so when he heard the slam and bounce of a wooden gate behind him he turned in surprise. He flashed his torch into the bearded face of someone he didn’t recognise, an instant before the man barrelled into him and sent him staggering into the school fence. The torch flew from his hand and went out, but another light bobbed into view, and a shout from the churchyard galvanised him.

‘Don’t just stand there, get him!’

Geordie followed the wavering light that picked out the shape of the man, who had now scrambled over the locked school gate next door, and into the playground. The shouter was still struggling with the church gate, so Geordie snatched up his own torch and took off, still not knowing whether he ought to be helping the hunter or the prey. He vaulted the school gate, and in the yard he found the runner eyeing up his chances of escaping over the bicycle shed; his hands were already on top of the half-wall, ready to boost himself up.

‘Get him, Geordie!’ The shouter was scaling the school gate as well now, and his use of Geordie’s name made the decision easier.

The runner had climbed onto the low wall, and was reaching up to grab the edge of the tin roof when Geordie reached him and seized one leg. The limb jerked violently under his hand, but Geordie hung on, and then wrapped his arms around both legs as they left the top of the wall. He pulled hard, and his captive let out a yell; both men fell backwards, and Geordie let go and managed to twist away in time to avoid the full weight of the escapee landing on him. The man grunted and lurched to his feet, but before he could take his first step, Geordie lunged after him and snagged his trouser leg again, pulling hard and spilling the man to the ground once more.

‘Good job!’

Torchlight played over the felled runner, and the newcomer straddled him, pulling a set of handcuffs from his coat pocket. When he’d secured the escapee’s hands, he stood up and turned, and Geordie was startled to recognise Bobby Gale. Of all the people he’d have expected to be on the right side of the law, Bobby was the last. And he hadn’t joined the police, as far as anyone knew, so where had he got the handcuffs?

Bobby swiped a hand irritably through his wild mat of dark hair, and flashed his torch into his quarry’s eyes. ‘Lie still, Stibby, you moron. It’s finished.’

Geordie had a hundred questions, but couldn’t decide which one to ask, so he just accepted Bobby’s thanks, and helped him pull the fugitive to his feet. ‘Want any help getting him . . . wherever he’s meant to be?’

‘Wouldn’t say no,’ Bobby admitted. ‘Mr Stibson here needs to go back to the police house down in Caernoweth.’

‘Why were you chasing him?’

‘He tried to break into the Tinner’s Arms. And Brewer thinks he’s the one been smashing the office windows over at the clay pit.’ Stibson twisted, with a strong word of protest, but Bobby cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. ‘Shut up, we’re not interested.’

Geordie shook his head. ‘No, I mean why were you chasing him?’

‘Oh. I was just passing the police house after he got away from Brewer,’ Bobby said. ‘Brewer asked me for help, that’s all. Quite a run across the moor, this one’s led me, too. Now, you goin’ to help, or what?’

Geordie studied him for a moment, still unsure, then nodded. ‘Let’s get him up to my place, we can take my van back to town.’

Half an hour later Nigel Stibson was back in custody at the Caernoweth police house, awaiting transport to the Truro station. Geordie heard Sergeant Brewer reading him the riot act, before he came back into the office and offered Geordie a cup of tea by way of thanks. Geordie declined, and, with his thoughts turning to supper he opened the door to leave, but there seemed to be a silent conversation going on between him and Bobby. Geordie watched the raised eyebrows, shrugs and nods for a moment, before losing patience and stepping out into the hall.

‘Goodbye, gents.’

‘Wait,’ Sergeant Brewer said, and Geordie turned back, his own eyebrows exaggeratedly raised, in mockery of their theatrics.

Brewer, to his credit, gave a brief grin of acknowledgement. ‘Sorry. Look, Sargent, come in for a minute. Get off home, Bobby, you’ve got an early start if you’re on the boats.’

Bobby clapped Geordie on the arm as he passed him. ‘Thanks again. I’d have lost him if you hadn’t got stuck in.’

Geordie closed the main door behind him, and came back into the office. Patrick Brewer, who’d been Caernoweth’s principle police officer for only a little over a year and was apparently a huge improvement on the previous incumbent, sat behind his desk and eyed Geordie with an unsettlingly direct gaze.

About the Terri Nixon

Terri was born in Plymouth in 1965. At the age of 9 she moved with her family to North Hill, Cornwall, a small village on the edge of Bodmin Moor, where she discovered a love of writing that has stayed with her ever since. She also discovered apple-scrumping, and how to jump out of a hayloft without breaking any bones, but no-one’s ever offered to pay her for doing those.

Terri also writes crime as R.D. Nixon, and is the author of the Clifford-Mackenzie Crime series, set in a small community in the Scottish Highlands. She now lives in Plymouth again, and works in the Faculty of Arts, Humanities and Business at Plymouth University.