My life is a little crazy here! I’ve been ensconced for a week at my dd’s house. I’ll be here for another 10 days, while she’s off helping a relative with a sudden upswing in his business. So, I moved in. I have 2 kids, 6 dogs, 5 cats, and 2 guinea pigs to care for.

And I’ve been working really, really hard between getting kids ready for school, doing mountains of laundry and dishes, and general upkeep around the house. I’m writing a sequel to Reaper, which includes plenty of Dagger, too. And I’ve been working on finishing up 5 editing projects by the end of the month. I’m going from the wee hours of the morning until midnight.

How am I doing it? COFFEE! 🙂

What’s bad is I worry about the fact I’m still not unpacked from the conference I attended and my place across the street needs cleaning, but what can you do?

One of the editing projects I’ve been working on is one of my own—A Long, Hot Summer. And it’s coming out next week!

If you’ve been reading the first two stories of The Triplehorn Brand, I will tell you that this story is the sexiest and the sweetest. Enjoy the excerpt!

A Long, Hot Summer

When two lonely hearts collide, age becomes just a number…

Sarah Colby’s marriage was over long ago, but she’s never shed the scars her abusive husband left behind. One shameful indiscretion, an affair with a younger man one long-ago summer haunts her.

Tommy Triplehorn is happy his brothers have settled down and started families of their own, but he’s feeling a little smothered by all that domesticity. Carousing and drinking no longer provide him any thrills, and he thinks he knows the reason why. He’s waited long enough for Sarah Colby to get over being ashamed of their past. He’s old enough to know what he wants, and he wants her.

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Chapter One

Tommy Triplehorn sat back in his chair, drinking while trying to ignore the noise from the scratchy jukebox and the jarring laughter from the blonde at the bar, who couldn’t seem to help glancing his way as she whispered with her girlfriend. After the annual Memorial Day picnic at the Triplehorn ranch, he was ready for a celebration of another sort. Looked like the blonde was going to be his date.

Candy Crowe. Tommy blew out a pent-up breath, relaxing as he gave himself permission to be disappointed. Looked like his partner this night was going to be a rarity for him—a repeat. But a quick glance around the room confirmed the only other women here were married or engaged or going out with friends of his, and he never crossed that line. So, Candy Crowe it would be.

He mustered up a smile and lifted his chin, inviting her to join him, and then cringed inwardly as she sauntered toward him, her wide hips swaying too deeply, a predatory gleam in her green eyes. Like a tiger on the prowl.

Or a cougar.

She topped him by ten years, but that didn’t bother him. He’d had older. Age wasn’t a deal breaker. Fact was, he liked women who knew their way around a man’s body. Liked their confidence. Still, his chest hurt a little as she drew nearer, because even though she was blonde not brunette, and even though her figure was as full as a centerfold’s rather than lean and trim, she reminded him of what he’d never have. Read the rest of this entry »

It’s me! Just popping in to wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day! Are you doing anything special to celebrate Valentine’s Day? Treating yourself? Staying home to snuggle with your hubby or your cat? I’ll be babysitting the munchkins while my dd and her hubby go to dinner. Best Valentine’s Day ever. 🙂

This was a really busy day. While family is still gathered, we’ve been going through grandma’s belongings and taking apart the medical setup we had installed for her care. This picture of the 4-year-old sitting on the hospital bed hospice provided pretty much sums up how we all feel.

Just a couple of weeks ago, grandma had a “girl’s night” with my aunt and dd, partaking of a couple of sips of beer—something she loved. She had a great night and bragged the next day to the nurse about her party. That was pretty much the last time we all felt like smiling.

We’re all feeling a little lost and hollow today. Really, the past two years have been about grandma—making sure she had someone to watch out for her and check on her, and then slowly, gradually, taking care of her around the clock. We moved from one phase to the next without any hiccups or hesitation. The last two months were particularly grueling, and we tried not to think about the end, but it was always looming. And she was ready. In her last days, she thanked us, which wasn’t something we expected. She deserved our love and care. She told stories, sometimes all night long, as though she had to get them out before she left. We listened. We held her hand.

I prefer thinking of her like this, with my Grandpa Ole—both so good-looking.

And of her, looking so radiant here…

Likely tomorrow, we’ll finish divvying up her belongings. We all want keepsakes. I asked for a pretty Italian wood-inlay jewelry box. She was given it as a retirement gift after 32 years on the job. She hated it. She barely wore jewelry. Did they even know her? It makes me smile, thinking about her holding that grudge for all those years. I’ll treasure it because I loved all the sides of her personality—even the one that liked to still grouse about that box.

The 4-year-old asked for a T-shirt. She wanted it to sleep in. Said she’d keep it forever. Tonight, she went home and dressed in that shirt that hung to her ankles, put a little blue jean jacket over it, and strutted out in a pair of high heels her cousin gave her for “dress-up”. She asked if she looked pretty. I thought she looked just as dazzling as the woman she wanted to honor.

Well, today was tough. We lost a strong, remarkable woman, my grandmother, Gladys. She was 98 years old, and passed surrounded by her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren.

Yesterday, we prepared for the worst. She stopped eating, talking, and as the day passed, her breathing grew more labored. If you’ve never heard the “death rattle”, you’ve never heard a more terrible sound. I spent the night in her room, with other restless relatives, including my sister Elle James, filtering in and out to see whether she was still with us.

It’s Saturday, right? Hard to tell these days. I relieved my daughter a little while ago. I spent the night at her place, walking dogs and taking care of kids—a break from taking care of grandma. I’m really having to work hard to fit in “writer’s work” with caregiving activities. Not that I’m complaining. I wouldn’t. This is what family does. Or at least, what family does when it can. I know that not every family can be “all hands on deck” in a crisis.

Yesterday, at last, we were approved for hospice. No, she’s not going into a facility. She’s staying home, and we’re still her caregivers, but there’s more support—on-call nurses, aides to help with baths a few times a week, some supplies, medicines to keep her comfortable.

We see to her needs, sleep when we can, hold her hand when she’s scared, listen to her stories. And oh, the stories. Who knew grandma loved a Blackfoot boy when she was young. Her mother made her break it off, and she’s apparently regretted it all her life, because here she is talking about a painful breakup eighty years later. Love is a powerful thing.

Hope you enjoy the free short story below. It’s a complete story. Make sure you don’t have any children reading over your shoulders. 🙂

Drive Me Crazy

She’s out for one night of passion in a trucker’s big rig…

Just a glimpse of him standing in profile, arms crossed over his well-developed chest and leaning his firm round butt against the dispatch counter, was enough to shore up my weakening resolve. Dressed in faded blue jeans, a black, chest-hugging T-shirt, and a red Razorback ball cap turned backwards on his dark shaggy hair, he was every woman’s blue-collar fantasy.

My mouth dried as I glanced down his tall, muscled frame. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want one night with all that ripped hotness?

And that’s all it could be—one night. I’d waited until the last possible moment to make my move. The midnight drive to the dispatch office had given me plenty of time to argue my way out of what had seemed like a good plan earlier when I’d realized that the planets had aligned to give me this one last chance to fulfill a long-standing fantasy.

There’d never been the right moment. For the longest time, I was married. When my husband left me for a younger version of me, Danny had been dating a woman with two kids, and seemed to be heading down a straight road to marriage.

We’d flirted; he’d issued lazy, playful invitations for dates or a quickie at the Motel 6 down the road. But I’d never detected even a hint of serious interest. If something was going to happen, I had to be the one to make a move. Today had been my last day at Henderson Transport. It was now or never. Read the rest of this entry »

Hey there! For those of you who’ve been gobbling up the Texas Cowboys stories, you won’t have to wait long to read Slow Rider, which features my two Texas cops, Joe and Logan. I had originally put SR up for pre-order with a late February release date, but you’ll get it read it much sooner. I decided to push it up because a couple of projects I had hoped to have ready in the next few weeks aren’t rocking along as fast as they should be.

There’s one really good reason. And it’s a real-life thing, but since I always try to be real here, I’ll tell you all about it.

Last year around Thanksgiving, my 98-year-old grandmother, who lives with us, began failing. You may recall that in late 2016 she broke her back. She went through rehab and recovered her mobility. This time, she’s just running out of juice. She’s entitled. She’d tell you that, too. From walking very unsteadily, she’s now completely bedridden. She did a three-day stint in the hospital where they evaluated her for hospice, but funnily enough, they found her to be too healthy for hospice. You have to have a terminal diagnosis to get in-home care. You’d think her age would be enough to cover that requirement, but no.

So, we did look at alternatives. They offered rehab. Six weeks worth, where they’d try to get her back on her feet. She didn’t see the point and didn’t want to leave home. She’d rather die here. So, a nursing home was out of the question, too. Instead, my aunt, my lovely dd, and I have broken up every 24-hours into shifts where we stay with grandma, feeding her, keeping her clean and comfortable, and yes, changing bed pans and adult diapers. Truly, it’s not as horrible as it sounds. And we love her, so this is what our family does. Because we can. We are well enough ourselves, my aunt is retired, I work from home, and my dd trades off childcare with her husband and me. Yes, I have added shifts of babysitting when she’s with grandma and the baby-daddy isn’t around to look after her.

We’re not sure how long this will last. We’ve already been at if for a while, which is why my productivity has gone to shit.

But I’m adjusting. Next month, I hope to have the following ready to go:

02/06/18 – DAGGER, Montana Bounty Hunters series (Indie)
02/16/18 – NIGHT WATCH, Texas Cowboys series, reissue (Indie)
02/27/18 – PIRATES, A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology (Indie)
02/28/18 – REAPER’S RIDE, Montana Bounty Hunters series (Indie)

In the meantime, I’ve moved up Slow Rider to January 23rd!

Slow Rider

When Joe Chavez and a fellow sheriff’s deputy pull over a speeding motorcycle in the middle of the night, neither is particularly shocked to find Paraiso’s wild child, Sarah Michelson, riding bare-assed naked, nor are they surprised when she invites them to join her in a sexy threesome. Talking her way out of an embarrassing date with the county judge, who just happens to be her daddy, Sarah promises the officers the ride of their lives. Having the men turn the tables on her and introduce her to some scary D/s play, she learns some things about herself she never suspected. Too bad Joe will never see her as anything but a sexy hell cat in need of taming…

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Happy New Year!

Here’s to a shiny, hopeful 2018! And I can’t believe I’m even typing those digits. Sheeeee-ett. I remember when I was partying like it was 1999! For real!

A new year, and it’s that time again. I know many of you never make a list of resolutions because you feel as though you’re setting yourselves up for failure, but I believe we can all set some “soft promises” to ourselves.

I’m a list girl. Always have been, and the older I get, I lean on them even harder. If it’s not on my list, it’s not on my radar sort of thing. But my lists are usually compiled of very finite goals and are almost always aimed at writing projects. So—work-related! Not at all a “soft promise”. So far as those go…

I don’t usually set weight goals because, like many of you, I always let myself down. I have no desire to be reed-thin, but I do want to feel better, so that’s my soft goal: Feel better in 2018! And I do have a box of some diet stuff waiting for me to get serious for a week or two to get the process going. Yuck, but I can do anything in the short-term. My hope is to eat less, move more, even if the moving is just cleaning house or walking rather than driving across the highway to my dd’s for coffee.

Then there’s the art thing. Writing is my creative passion, but for the past few years, it’s felt more like a job. I show up every day at the keyboard and pound out words or edit others’ words. I’ve been feeling a little empty, like the creative spark needed a new outlet. I’ve been making jewelry, but it doesn’t always feed my need for color and freedom because wrapping, linking, beading doesn’t feel explosively creative. This year, I’m going to try to get the creative zest back in my life. First, I’m going to write a series that lights my fire: Montana Bounty Hunters. Humor mixed with action and sexy times feels right. I had so much fun writing the first book, REAPER, that I’m eager to see what happens next in that world. And, I’m rejoining the local art guild this month. It’s time to take a few classes, learn some new techniques, and get out the paint!

Lastly, I want to learn to be a saver. I’m luckier than most in that I won’t have to depend on Social Security when I’m in my dotage. I have a couple of retirements that will kick in when I hit 60, but I’d love to feel more in control—and to take some trips. So, with Hawaii and Iceland in mind, I’m taking the 52-week savings challenge. It’s small beans, but I hope it will help me learn a little discipline. No, I don’t need another paint brush or the latest tablet. Not that I am any good at denying myself little treasures, but one thing I’ve learned about myself is that I get EXTREME pleasure from treasure hunting at flea markets and yard sales. Those pretty buttons, odd beads, and small machinery finds help feed my art habit. So, maybe I don’t need a new Michael Kors bag, but I can get my shopping on looking for just the right piece of bric-a-brac for the next mixed media piece I work on.

So, that’s my soft list of resolutions. Not a big list, and I won’t attack it with any “all or nothing” ambition, just a quiet plodding resolution.

So, how about it? Do you have a “soft” resolution?
Something you’d love to do for yourself this coming year?

If you comment, you’ll be entered to win a small Amazon.com gift card.  ~DD