UPDATE: The winner is Beckie!
*~*~*

For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, let me know who this weekend’s book boyfriend will be! 

If you’re looking for something to read this weekend, I have a suggestion. Pick up a Montana Bounty Hunters story, either one of the original nine stories, or one from among the four stories in the Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT, series.

Each story is unique. Each hero and heroine is unique. I worked hard to give each character their own story with their own issues and adventures.

If you’d like a taste of one of the stories, here’s Hardman, who more than lives up to his name, as does his partner and, soon, love interest, Martika Mills….

Get your copy today!

Excerpt from the opening of Hardman

“His GPS is pinging just ahead,” Martika Mills said, raising her gaze from her handheld tracking device to point ahead toward the bend in the river.

Pierce Hardman took his attention off scanning the banks and slowed their boat in the center of the shallow river. They’d need to gear up before approaching their target, Matthew Harper, who’d skipped his date with the judge the previous week. The once-convicted felon had been set to appear on charges stemming from a string of home burglaries. Just another dumbass who thought the rules didn’t apply to him and didn’t want to work for his money.

“Finally, it’s cold as shit on this water,” Preacher’s voice came over the comms. He was in the jon boat behind Hardman and Marti’s little two-seater sneak boat and was accompanied by Dagger and Lacey. They hadn’t really needed so many hunters for this takedown, but since healthy bounties had been a bit scarce the last few weeks, and everyone was bored, they’d decided to move on Harper together.

When they’d planned this river grab, they hadn’t taken into account maneuvering on the chilly water. They wore shorts with sweatshirts or hoodies on top. Nothing other than the thin padding atop Hardman’s aluminum seat kept his balls from freezing.

He twisted the handle on the outboard motor to put it into neutral, slowing the boat further. While the boat drifted, he and Marti removed their life vests and donned the gear they’d brought in a duffle—their Kevlar vests, their badges, and lastly, they strapped holstered weapons to their thighs.

“We look ridiculous,” Lacey said with a laugh. “Who wears shorts and boat shoes to a takedown?”

Marti rolled her eyes. Hardman smirked. Lacey could always be counted on for fashion commentary. The curvy blonde was the only hunter sporting pink and grey camouflaged attire.

“Hardman, you got our new toy?” Preacher asked.

Hardman bent to the duffle and removed the new “Spiderman” bolo gun, which he clipped to his vest. “Got it.”

“Has he moved?” Dagger asked.

Again, Marti bent to look at the tracker. “Nope. He’s sitting still.”

Hardman hoped that meant he was busy fishing.

“Hope he didn’t ditch the ankle monitor,” Marti mumbled. “Or we rented these boats for nothing.”

“We ready?” Dagger asked.

“We’re a go,” Hardman said and twisted the outboard motor’s handle again to move slowly toward the bend.

As they rounded the curve, they spotted a small boat beached against a steep bank, a rope tied around a fallen tree to keep it there, but no sign of Harper.

Hardman aimed the boat at the bank, gave the motor a bit of juice then set it into neutral. They drifted into the bank, and he jumped off the side into shallow water. “You stay with the boat,” he said to Marti. “We don’t need it floating away.”

“Why do you get all the fun?” she asked, her eyebrows lowering.

“Because I was in the water first,” he said, grinning.

Dagger slid his boat beside the sneaker boat and tossed his mooring line to Marti. “Make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.”

Marti’s glower darkened.

Hardman chuckled as he climbed the bank, glancing around to look for any signs of where their quarry might have gone.

“He’s pinging from up there,” Marti said in a hushed tone from below. When he glanced back, she was pointing toward the top of the steep bank. “Maybe twenty feet in.” She held up the tracker. “Sure you don’t need me?”

“We’ll manage,” he said. “Just give us a shout if he moves.”

Hardman reached for branches, knotty roots, and grass to pull himself up the bank.

Beside him, Dagger pushed on Lacey’s butt to get her up the side, and Preacher dug his toes into loose dirt to “step” his way up. Once they all stood on the top of the embankment, they spread out to commence their search. As well, they didn’t need to be bunched together since they didn’t know for sure whether Harper was armed. Not that his file indicated he was dangerous, but a cornered dog might bite.

Hardman studied the ground and brush around him, looking for tracks.

“Got him,” Dagger said quietly.

Hardman glanced his way. Dagger pointed to footprints and touched a broken branch. Signaling that he’d take point, he aimed a glare at Lacey, who frowned but let Hardman and Preacher trail behind him before falling in at the end of the line.

They went maybe fifteen feet into the brush when Dagger squatted and held up a closed fist. They all took a knee. Dagger pointed at his eyes then raised two fingers. Harper had company.

Then they heard noise up ahead. Soft groans, a thready moan. The distinctive slap of flesh on flesh. Matthew Harper was getting busy in the grass.

Dagger pointed to Preacher and then to his left.

Keeping low, Preacher moved quietly to the left of the couple.

Following Dagger’s hand signals, Hardman moved to the right. When he reached his position, he low-crawled through tall grass until he saw glimpses of pink flesh between the waving blades. A man’s ass was flexing, driving downward. Pale, plump legs encircled his hips.

By the speed of his movements, he was getting close.

“Ready?” Dagger whispered.

“Ah, let him finish,” Lacey said. “It’ll be a long time before he gets to knock against someone with breasts again.”

Marti snickered in his ear.

“We even sure he’s our guy?” Preacher grumbled.

“Can’t tell. I’ve got the rear view, and his ankles are hidden in the grass,” Hardman whispered, grimacing, because he really didn’t want to take a closer look.

“I’m getting closer,” Lacey said.

“Stay the fuck where you are,” Dagger bit out.

“Oh. He’s got a shaved head,” Lacey said.

Which could be a problem. Harper had had long, frizzy hair in his booking photo.

“Gotta wait until they get up to ID him,” Dagger said.

The couple on the ground rolled until the female sat atop the male. She was a well-rounded woman with large breasts and a generous behind.

“She’s certainly energetic,” Lacey said as the woman bounced over the man’s hips.

At last, the woman’s head fell back, and a series of “Oh-oh-ohs” echoed in the clearing.

The man gripped her hips and rutted upward before letting out a loud shout.

“Satisfied, Lace?” Dagger drawled.

“Nope, but they sure are.”

The hunters stood, drawing their weapons.

“Fugitive Recovery Agents!” Dagger shouted.

The couple froze. Then the man tossed the woman to the side and bolted up from the ground. Nude, he barreled past Lacey, knocking her to the ground, and headed straight toward the river.

“Got a runner,” Hardman said, following close on the man’s heels.

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” Marti said.

As his feet pounded the dirt, Hardman noted the black ankle monitor the naked man wore. “It’s our guy.”

“I’m staying with the woman,” Lacey said. “I’ll help her find her clothes.”

“Hardman, get the lead out,” Dagger bit out. “Don’t let him get to that boat.”

When Harper approached the edge of the bank, Hardman expected the man to slow down, but he didn’t. Hardman reached out, grabbing for his shoulder, but Harper leapt into the air then bumped on his naked ass down the side of the embankment.

“He’s over the edge,” Hardman said, skidding on his own backside over rocks and exposed roots.

“I see him,” Marti shouted.

Hardman heard a splash.

“Marti, don’t let those boats get away,” Dagger said. “It’s my credit card on the deposit!”

At the bottom of the embankment, Hardman pushed off the ground and ran behind Harper, who was nearing his beached skiff. Hardman would never catch the skip before he was inside it, so he unclipped the Spiderman bolo gun and aimed for the man’s thighs.

He struck Harper at the back of his knees just as he entered the water—and just as Marti jumped in front of him to prevent him getting into his boat.

The bolo deployed and wrapped around his knees. Harper fell forward—on top of Marti—and they both sank into the water.

Hardman rushed toward them and pulled on Harper’s shoulders.

Marti sat in the water and gulped in air with Harper still pinning her hips to the bottom of the river. “You did this on purpose!” she said, glaring at Hardman. “Get him off me.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Matthew Harper said, sounding miserable. “But water’s so cold I can’t get it up anyway.”

Marti smacked his chest. “No one better have a camera!”

“Too late,” Dagger quipped.

Hardman glanced over his shoulders at Dagger who held out his iPhone. He was bent at the waist laughing.

Hardman wrapped an arm around Harper’s middle and lifted him off Marti who scooted backward then slowly stood. She looked down at her wet clothing and gear and her lips curled in disgust. When her gaze met Hardman’s, it narrowed. “Not a word. Ever.”

“I did tell you to stay with the boat,” he said, his tone cheerful.

Help me name a female character for my next book for a chance to win a $5 Amazon Gift Card.

Hi, y’all. I hope the summer had been to you all. I can’t believe that we’re heading fast for fall and kids will be going back to school. My youngest daughter is turning the BIG 16 this month. She’s getting her license. And my oldest daughter is heading back to college for her last year before graduation, and then it’s off to graduate school. I feel like I’m caught up in a whirlwind and soon I’ll be an empty nester. What will I do with myself? Write more books. Bake all those recipes I’ve wanted to try. Work out more. Have date nights. I’m not excited. My world has evolved around my kids and it’s difficult to imagine jumping out of the fast lane and going solo.

Who could use a $5 GC? Enter the contest by doing this…

1. Follow me on BookBub. Here’s the link: Rhonda Lee Carver Books – BookBub. Already follow me? Awesome.
2. Name the beautiful redhead in the picture below. Put the name in an email subject headline and send it to author@gmail.com. One winner will be chosen on 08/29. Good luck!

Here’s an excerpt to my new book, Broken Halo. It’s sexy, steamy, and full of graphic language and dirty-good sex. What’s not to love?

“How did you get in? The door was locked.” She was aware that her voice fluttered. “Did you do this? Did you lock me in here?”

“You’re blaming me? Didn’t I tell you to stay put? Is it impossible for you to listen?” Lines of fury appeared around his mouth. His hands were fisted at his sides.

“Wait…how did you know I was in this room? You would have had to see me come in.” Tears moistened her eyes.

“Because I was looking through the security monitors and just happened to see you breaking the rules,” he growled. “I didn’t lock you in but that’s about the only way to get you to behave.”

She looked from him to the door then back to him. “If you didn’t do it then who did?”

He rubbed his jaw. “The doors must be powered by automatic locks because no one locked you inside.”

Swallowing, she slumped her shoulders, still reeling from watching the sex scene.

He took the short distance between them, backing her against the cool glass. She was almost grateful for the respite from the heat of her skin. He stared down at her, looking savage and warrior-like, his chest rising and falling.

“Ireland, if you can’t behave then I’m going to have to…”

“What?”

“Turn you over my knee and swat that tight ass. Do you think this is a joke?”

“I don’t care about your threats,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have married you.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I feel the same. I should have let King do whatever he wanted.”

She raised her hand with the intention to smack him across the face, but he caught her wrist and held it prisoner between his wide, callused fingers. Their gazes connected in a fiery duel of emotion and something else…something akin to desire. She tried to jerk free, but he held her tight. He then captured her other wrist and lifted both her arms high above her head and pinned them against the window.

“Let me go, you bastard!”

“Or what?” he seethed.

She brought her knee up but he was quick and dodged her strike to his groin. This angered him and his face reddened.

“You brat!” he pushed through thin lips, forcing her against the wall. “You’re pressing all my buttons.”

“Welcome to the club!”

Then something happened.

An invisible chain broke.

Pre-order here: Broken Halo (Undercover Silvers Series MC Book 1) – Kindle edition by Carver, Rhonda Lee. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

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Oh, boy. This is my first guest blog as a nearly-published romance author, and I’m a little nervous.

Okay. A lot nervous.

I’ve always had stories in my head. There’s always been a kind of narration going in my brain. Sometimes it reads like a script, laying out events that happened the day before. Or a difficult conversation I need to have (or wish I could have) with someone. Other times, it’s a scene from whatever I’m writing, playing out in images and description and dialogue. But that’s all safely in my head, where it always sounds good and no one else can see or hear or judge.

Or experience my stories with me. Yes, my stories are safe in my head. But what good is being a storyteller, if you don’t have the guts to put your stories down on paper and send them out into the world, to share them with others?

It took me a long time to understand this about myself, but that’s my passion: telling stories. I love stories. I love movies and scripted television. As long as we’re talking happy endings and good guys winning, that is. I distinctly recall the cheers that erupted in the theatre when Han and Chewie swooped in to help Luke make his run down that Death Star trench. Xena and Hercules were Must-See Friday-night television for me and my friends. And I’ve been reading since I could hold a book. My first love was science fiction and fantasy. Then I started sneaking peeks at the romances Granny shared with Mom, which Mom tucked away on the shelf in the enclosed back porch that we called our kitchen nook. And then I started reading those romances cover to cover, swept away by the emotional journeys of people as they fell in love. As they chose each other, no matter their faults or fears, and made whatever sacrifices they needed to make to build a life together.

Did you catch that I called them people? Of course, they’re characters, imagined by someone and crafted by someone, their actions and thoughts and emotions carefully chosen word by word, page by page, scene by scene. But man, if the writer has done their job well, those characters can be as real to readers or viewers as living, breathing people.

Especially in romance. Because these characters are fighting for what we all want: love. Families. Healthy relationships. Fulfilling lives. Whether they’re dragon shifters like mine or Wall Street billionaires or Victorian heiresses. We see ourselves in these characters. We connect to them on a deeply personal level.

Some writers will describe their process as listening to their characters as if their characters are telling them what to do. My process is more like a series of discoveries of what someone might be like if this or that happened to them, of choices I consciously make to build them from the inside out. Whatever the process, those characters we love come from the mind and heart of a storyteller. And if they’re in a published book, then that writer had the guts to put their characters and those characters’ journeys into words and send them out to the world. And hopefully into readers’ hearts.

And here I am, finally ready to join the ranks of the published and share my stories. Or nearly ready. I may have made this decision to finally put my work out there, but apparently, I’ve got way more to learn about how to do that than I realized, despite years of working toward this goal.

So yeah, I’m a lot nervous. I wish I at least had the cover ready to share. I’ll be back here next month, a grateful guest blogger of the kind and generous Delilah Devlin, and I’ll have more for you then, including a chance to win a set of dragon magnets. In the meantime, comment for a chance to win a copy of Fire’s Rising as soon as it’s available this fall.

But no more waiting! It’s time. So here, for the first time ever, is an excerpt from my debut paranormal romance Fire’s Rising, when my hero and heroine meet. I hope you’ll like my story. And I especially hope you’ll like my characters and take them into your heart. They’ve certainly spent a lot of time in mine.

Cheers,
Grace Adams
www.bygraceadams.com

Excerpt from Fire’s Rising…

To set the scene: Cole is a fire dragon shifter of Clan Drakon, (the other half of his dual soul is the dragon Aithos), and as Fire’s Rising opens, he’s out searching with water dragon shifter Sonnan for the newborn dragon his clan chief and mentor James has been sensing. Her name is Liliana. She’s alone, stuck in a bad situation, and doesn’t yet understand why a fire has always burned at the heart of her. Or why that fire has finally, suddenly, broken free.

Fire. Cole smelled it on the wind, tasted it on his tongue. And this time, that taste held the tang of a dragon’s magic. He beat his wings and turned into the wind, to the source of the scent, hope and dread both burning hot embers in his chest.

I’ve got her! James’ thought cut, edged razor sharp with triumph.

Cole curled his wings to catch an updraft and soared higher. She’s east and north of me. I can smell the fire. Get me a better location, James, he demanded.

Astoria, not far from the East River. Hurry, Cole, James said. Cole couldn’t miss the tension now coiling in his mentor’s voice. I sense her dragon’s magic–and her fire–but I can barely sense her.

His talons fisted, a roar building in his throat. They were too late. She was burning. Had she hurt anyone? Had she hurt herself?

Understood, James. Sonnan, be quick. And be ready. If she can’t hear me, you’ll need to shock her out of this fire the old-fashioned way.

With water, Sonnan agreed, her mental voice as cool and clear as the water she commanded. On my way.

Fire flared high, still miles distant but unmistakable to his vision. The blaze flashed, bright and powerful. The shock wave throbbed against him in a sharp, hot burst moments later.

But he was fire, too. Aithos snarled in recognition and burning need and surged forward, wings straining in a pounding rhythm.

She was one of them. She was a fire dragon of Clan Drakon. Nothing mattered more than finding her, protecting her, and bringing her home. Nothing. Whatever had happened, whatever she’d done, whatever the consequences of her awakening, they’d get her through it. But he had to actually find her first.

Cole slid deep into Aithos’ strength and power, trusting the dragon half of his being to do what he’d been born to do. Fly. Arms and legs tucked tight, his long tail a counterbalance streaming behind him, his massive wings beat strong and true as he read the air currents on pure instinct. They reached the river in minutes.

Flames reached high into the night, driven by hunger and fury, the fire stretching for at least a mile along what appeared to be a business district on the opposite shore. Cole stared in horror. Their drakaina was in the middle of that?

Where the man in him saw an inferno and felt the horror of what would be lost to it, though, the beast saw the currents and patterns of the magic that lay beneath it. What stood at the center of all that burning power was clear to his dragon. And it was another of their kind.

Aithos folded his wings and dove, neck stretched out and chin tucked as he streaked across the river. He plummeted to the rooftops, spreading his wings again at the last possible moment to dump their speed in a breathtaking jolt, the powerful beats scattering the flames as they hovered in mid air.

But only for a moment. Then the heat rose again to scorch his breath, the flames skipping back across the tarmac of the parking lot below him in a searing rush.

Man and dragon both saw her now, still in human form, standing next to the shell of a burning car. The ragged, smoking remains of her clothes hung off her tall, slim form, her legs spread and back arched, her arms stretched wide. Long, dark red curls twisted wildly about a bruised and battered face. But her eyes blazed with power, her lips stretched in feral joy.

We have found her, Aithos broadcast. He angled his wings and dropped into the fire, landing far enough from her that if she shifted, she’d have enough room.

Call to her, Cole said.

Aithos pushed to his hind legs and rose to his full height and roared. It was the command of a fully grown and mature fire dragon, demanding acknowledgment and obedience from a newborn. The deep, throaty blast pushed the flames back for another moment and made her hair dance. But she didn’t acknowledge the call in any way.

Her dragon cannot hear me over the power of her fire.

Cole answered by pushing close enough to the front of their bond that magic surged and dragon surrendered his form to that of the man. But not all the way. His skin would be no match for the heat she was generating. He approached her cautiously, in human form but protected by the dragon’s scales.

Volume hadn’t worked. Neither had the simple shock of seeing a dragon land in front of her. If she could actually see anything beyond her flames. He pitched his words so soft and low they were nearly sub-vocal.

“Can you hear me?”

Nothing. No reaction. He tried again, murmuring soothing, wordless sounds of comfort. The only response was an explosion a block or so away as something blew.

Cole, James pathed to him. This is all over the news. I’ve lost count of the number of engines responding, and they’ll be there in less than five minutes. If the news helicopters don’t beat them. You’re out of time.

Clouds already roiled as they massed above him. Sonnan was close.

Hear me, he pathed to the young woman. Please. It’s time for you to come home.

The power blazing in her eyes flickered. But only for a heartbeat. The hope in his chest crisped to ashes as the fires raged on around them.

Hit her, Sonnan, he ordered, and braced himself for the deluge. Hard.

The skies opened.

* * *

Water—cold—water? Crashing water. Beating her throbbing face, smothering her and drenching her lovely flames and smashing her down.

Lili screamed and sucked in water, choked and fell moaning, shivering, to her knees. Reaching for heat, needing the heat back. Where was the heat?

“Can you hear me?”

Not Maks, not Maks or that disgusting–

“Drakaina? Can you hear me?”

The voice was calm, soothing, gently compelling. She raised her head, vaguely surprised to find it still attached, blinked rain and the last of the flickering flames from her eyes.

A man, a naked man, with broad shoulders and slender hips, his skin glistening in moonlight and pouring rain.

Naked?

Twisting eddies of color and light danced across him, crimson and gold. Shimmering down each muscle, hugging his shoulders, sparking at his fingertips. Watching made her dizzy, made her wonder why she’d thought he was standing there naked in the middle of a parking lot.

“We’re here to help,” he said in that beautiful voice. “Are you all right?”

Was she all right?

Lili blinked, her gaze drawn to the flecks of warm light in his eyes, in his unwavering stare. He shouldn’t ask things like that. Not about her. Maks wouldn’t like it.

“Drakaina,” he said, urgently now. “This fire stretches for at least a mile, and Sonnan’s rain can’t reach everywhere. We think people are trapped in some of these buildings. Can you put the fire out?”

People? Lili lurched to her feet, spinning, stumbling, peering desperately through the downpour and the darkness, but there were no life-size piles of smoldering ashes. They must have gotten away before–

People. Trapped. Oh, no… No!

Lili closed her eyes and threw her arms wide and reached, reached wide, far, for heat, for flames, for that which burned and scorched and seared.

She called and called. Come back to me, come, COME, until she stretched thin and brittle across the endless cold and silence, until she was nothing but that single, pain-filled word, screamed over and over in blackness.

Nothing. Nothing. She couldn’t do this, she’d never tried to call the heat to her before, it wouldn’t come back. Despair cut like an icy blade. There was nothing, she was nothing, and–

“You’re nothing.”

How many times had Maks told her that? No, no, Maks was gone, he was gone, she must have finally made him afraid of her. She hadn’t meant to, but that wouldn’t matter. Not to him.

“You’re nothing!”

The blow had staggered her, fear rising acrid in her mouth and brittle in her gut that time as it did now. She faltered, shaking, stepping back.

No. He was gone. Maks was gone. Wasn’t he?

He always comes back, the fear whispered. And he’s going to be so mad…

She set her feet, gritted her teeth. Clutching at the burning embers within, she reached.

A whiff of smoke gave her the strength to stretch farther, farther, again, more. An instant of warmth against her wet fingertips, a flicker of heat in the depths of her soul.

More, more, come to me, come TO ME, the call a desperate cry that resonated within her in a low, husky echo.

And the fire roared, snapping back. Scorching her breath. Skittering across her skin and writhing in her belly.

Burning. She was burning.

With lovely, lovely heat…

She staggered, blind and deaf to everything but the conflagration she’d harnessed, that licked and hissed and consumed the last of her strength and slowly, sullenly, flickered lower.

But it didn’t go out. The fire never went out. Not as long as there was breath in her body.

She’d done it. The fire in the buildings and cars, at least, was out, and the one within her was quiet. Lili dropped her aching arms and drew a long, shuddering sigh as some last, tiny, stubborn spark of life still left in her forced her heavy eyes open.

He still stood there in front of her. Had even drawn closer, despite what he’d just seen her do. And this time, he wasn’t alone. A woman now stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, the light flickering across her skin silver and a blue so dark it was nearly black. They seemed poised, tense. Waiting for her to collapse.

“We’re here to help,” he repeated, slowly. “I’m Cole, and this is Sonnan.”

Naked or not, and she still couldn’t be sure, they were magnificent. Both of them. Shining and sleek and so very strong.

Not like her.

They would have stood up to Maks. They would have found a way to leave him.

She stared at them, frowning, sadness rolling over her in a cold wave. Why couldn’t she be that strong?

“What do you want from me?” she rasped, trying to at least sound strong and fierce and not at all like her vision was darkening or her heartbeat was pounding in her ears or her knees were buckling–

He caught her as she sagged, easing down with her in a tangled heap. “Drakaina?”

She tried to answer, to tell him to stop calling her that strange word and leave her alone. She tried to get up and run somewhere, anywhere, now that Maks finally wasn’t looking. But all she managed was a low, low moan.

She should have been afraid. He had his hands on her. But fear wasn’t enough to push her to her feet. Or even to raise her arm to smack his hands away. She had nothing left.

Warm fingers brushed her snarled, sodden hair back from her face.”It’s all right,” that beautiful voice soothed. “We’ll take you someplace safe, where you can rest. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

Safety didn’t exist. Not for her. Because there was no place in the world that Maks wouldn’t come for her.

For the freak who belonged to him.

More hands, straightening her legs with care and easy strength. “I think she did it. I think the fire’s completely out.” The woman. Her voice held all the sweet rain and cool, gentle breezes that Lili had ever longed for in that stinking hot cell of a studio. “Is she all right?”

“We need to get her back to Nina. Now.”

His words came from far away, clipped and angry, but she couldn’t make herself care. What they did with her, they did with her. What could it possibly matter?

Maks would find her. He would never let her go. It was only a matter of time.

He was going to be so mad.

“You’re nothing!”

Nothing.

She knew that. Nothing.

… except the fire that meant everything, that had taken everything from her. The embers lay quietly, banked and glowering in her belly.

Author Bio

Grace Adams is a 2017 Golden Heart® finalist and award-winning author of paranormal romance who loves nothing more than a happy ending. Whatever the genre, regardless of the medium, as long as justice prevails, the good guys win, and people are falling in love, she’s in.

A lifelong reader of science fiction, fantasy, and of course romance, Grace also enjoys painting and drawing and is an avid skier. One of those rare Geeks who loves both Star Wars AND Star Trek, she’s got a closet full of costumes she created and firmly believes that she who dies with the most fabric (and books) (and shoes) wins.

Grace has a B.S. in Mathematics from Ursinus College and an M.A. in English from Wright State University.  She is a veteran of the USAF as a communications officer and currently works as an IT Controls Analyst. She shares her home with the best super cats ever, Thor and Loki.

UPDATE: The winner is…Delaine McLafferty!
*~*~*

Wait, what? One good wreath deserves another? Isn’t that supposed to be one good turn deserves another? True, that’s how the old saying goes. A good act leads to another, and thus goodness is spread. Well, this year for me this came true this past Christmas. Let me explain.

I go all out decorating my house inside and out for Christmas. With the uproar and upset caused by waiting for the 2020 election results I decided to started my Christmas decorating in November. I wasn’t alone. My neighbors were doing the same.

The good feeling then extended through the neighborhood to the beginning of the new year. I didn’t want the feeling to end so for the first time I created a wreath for New Year then decided to leave it up for the whole month of January. As February approached, I wanted to keep the positive vibes going through Black History month as well. Needless to say, Women’s History month and St. Patrick’s Day couldn’t be left behind.

Nor could I slight Easter in April. I then created a wreath with the May flowers brought by April showers and the rainbow created by the showers of love in Pride Month.

I was on a roll, so I made a July 4^th wreath for my house and for my sister too, as well as a special wreath in honor of my 32^nd wedding anniversary.

I’m up to August, celebrating summer and designing a birthday wreath for reaching the 65^th year milestone.

You see what I mean? I’m such a regular at the Dollar Store, Michael’s, and Hobby Lobby I ought to look into buying stock. I’m looking forward to keeping the good feeling going to the end of the year as ideas for wreaths for the remaining months are on the drawing board. The additional benefit is all I need to do is rinse and repeat these wreaths in 2022. So for a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments how you honor or celebrate special days or seasons.

The Patience of Unanswered Prayer from Cowboys
featured in Cowboys

A feisty businesswoman about to become the next victim of Post-Civil War revenge receives rescue from an unexpected source

Excerpt from “The Patience of Unanswered Prayer” 

Eleanor Taylor lay on her side, kinks knotting her back, cramps burning her thighs. Her muscles strained with each attempt to ease her discomfort. Instead of relief, the movement tightened the rope pinning her arms to her body. The blanket beneath which Sheriff Radcliffe concealed her smelled of horse sweat. Its scratchy wool surface set her cheeks afire.

Dirt coated the cloth he’d stuffed into her mouth. She moaned, unable to avoid swallowing the grit now smeared across her teeth and tongue. Afraid she’d wretch, she raised her head, an action that forced the grimy gag further down her throat.

“Keep still, you uppity mulatto bitch.”

She shuddered at the menace in Radcliffe’s tone. The same menace glinted in his icy blue eyes when he’d entered her cell and tried to violate her. He’d covered her mouth, but she’d sunk her teeth into his hand, eliciting a satisfying pain-drenched yowl from the bastard. A well-placed kick to the balls had laid him low. His groan flooded her huntress spirit with joy.

If his deputy hadn’t rushed in, she’d have gotten away.

The coppery tang from Radcliffe’s blood renewed her desire to be the hunter, not the hunted. Tapping carefully into that desire had enabled her to thwart the hostilities all independent Black business owners faced in this post-Reconstruction era. Acting on that desire now, however, could lead to her death. She had to find another avenue of escape before that desire resurfaced and revealed what no one should know about her.

“Seems your fears about the jail being overrun by her foes was misplaced, Sheriff.”

Radcliffe snorted. “Better safe than sorry, Jim. Something could’ve happened before we got her on the stage in the morning.”

The sounds of horse hooves clopping, drunken laughter, and saloon music had faded long ago. Only chirruping crickets, croaking bullfrogs, and Sheriff Radcliffe’s lies penetrated Eleanor’s covering. Where were they taking her?

The wagon wheels creaked with every rut they hit. Eleanor wheezed, desperate for fresh air. Nausea roiled at the base of her throat. Would she die choking on her own vomit? Fear squeezed her chest as yes flit through her mind like a lightning bug.

The wagon lurched to the right. Her nausea intensified.

“Mind how you go there, boy. We don’t want to be accused of mistreating the prisoner.”

Being arrested on false charges didn’t count as mistreatment? How about being abducted by ones sworn to uphold the law? Eleanor’s agony mirrored that of Christ’s on the cross.

My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?

She moaned, her spirit smothered by despair. The pressure at the small of her back eased only to be followed by a sharp jab to her spine.

“Shut up, damn you,” Radcliffe snapped. “Your days of troubling me will soon be over.”

“What was that you said, Sheriff?”

“Thank God this trouble’ll soon be over. We’ll have delivered her safe and sound to the county seat tomorrow.”

“Safe and sound,” Deputy Jim Flyte said. “Thank the good Lord.”

His tone, full of innocence and ignorance, penetrated Eleanor’s cloth prison and killed all hope that he’d be of any help. She stifled a groan lest her tormentor kicked her again. Flyte was too young to know that safe and sound to Sheriff Hobart Radcliffe meant only one thing: Eleanor’s death.

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All Cowboy & Charm

What happens at a fertility clinic stays at a fertility clinic…unless there’s an accidental switch-a-roo…

Successful author Melanie Jane decided after a very public divorce that she would prove to the world, especially her critiques, that she didn’t need a man to make her dreams come true. So, she wrote a best seller and used a fertility clinic to get pregnant. An accidental switch-a-roo left Melanie curious…who was the father of her baby?

Coop Dawson was still grieving the loss of his twin brother when some lady showed up at the family ranch and announced that she was pregnant by Cade, impossible since he’d been gone for over a year. Coop didn’t have the patience for scam artists. He told her exactly how he felt then made her hit the road. Yet, after reading a letter from a fertility clinic, he realized she’d been telling the truth. Now he needed to turn things around fast before he lost the chance at knowing Cade’s child.

Sometimes tragedy can bring a family closer…and bring unexpected gifts.

Coop needed to step up for the first time in his life and do the right thing for everyone. He promised his brother in a late-night prayer that he’d take care of the child—but what Coop didn’t realize he was already falling for Melanie and he couldn’t imagine life without her. Will she learn to trust him? Or will he screw up every chance he’d been given?

All Cowboy & Charm (Book 1) PERMA FREE!!  https://books2read.com/allcowboyandcharm

All Cowboy & Rough Rider

Forbidden love with an ex-fiancé’s brother will have townsfolk of Dove Grey talking. But she either went rogue or lost her heart again.

It had been two years since Cade Dawson passed away from leukemia, but his presence remained strong in small town Dove Grey, Texas. Coming home was probably too soon for many folks, but Annika Tinder hoped people could put the rumors and assumptions aside so that she could open her dream spa in her childhood home. She’d grown a lot since she first left—had a thicker skin now, and she’d need it. So what if people thought she had a sex-capade with the sexiest Dawson brother? She was willing to face the fire to get what she wanted.

Cross Dawson had a plan.

He’d steer clear of Annika so that townsfolk wouldn’t target her with their harsh speculations, and he wouldn’t be tempted by those old feelings he thought he’d buried. The task proved harder than he anticipated. He’d lost himself once—twice, three times—with her, but he couldn’t do it again, not when he had to honor his late brother’s memory. That was the respectable thing to do, right? So then why did every path and sign lead back to her?

Will Annika’s desire for an old flame, and new start, keep her in town? Or will she be chased off a second time? The sexy Dawson brothers and their wild romances keep the townsfolk of Dove Grey, Texas talking. From secret babies, forbidden love, to broken hearts…they’ll keep readers talking too.

All Cowboy & Rough Rider (Book 2) https://tinyurl.com/uktvnmra

Excerpt for All Cowboy & Rough Rider…

“Wrong? Nothing. Why?”

She smiled. “I can’t decide if the sour face is because I make you nervous or my food gave you indigestion.”

He dug his spoon into dessert but didn’t feel much up to eating anything more. “The food was delicious.”

“Ah, so I’m making you nervous?” She rolled her tongue along the plump center of her bottom lip.

Yeah, that didn’t help matters in the southern region of his belt. “No. Yes. Hell, I don’t know.”

Her eyes widened and again he couldn’t get past how bright her eyes were. She ran her finger through the condensation on her bottle. “It’s me and I get it.” The higher octave in her tone told him she enjoyed teasing him.

“I just have a lot on my mind I suppose,” he admitted. He couldn’t admit that she was nine-tenths of the trouble occupying his mind. He watched her slender fingers pick up a berry and pop it into her mouth, not taking her eyes off him for one second.

“It’s because I made it clear how I feel. I thought men liked when women were aggressive and made it clear what they wanted.”

“Aggressive?”

“You know, earlier. I feel like we’re denying the truth blasting like a neon sign. We’re sexually attracted to each other.”

Good thing he was sitting because she’d have knocked him right off his boots. He needed to tread carefully down the path where this conversation was headed. He didn’t want to lie to her but telling her the truth could land them both smack dab in a world of distress.

Truth was, they were sexually attracted to each other. But it was more than just a need for sex. He liked her company. He found himself searching for her while he worked, which meant he was behind. Cross didn’t like being behind.

It was mostly her fault. She’d done nothing but flirt with him since he’d started work that morning. He wasn’t the smartest when it came to women and their feminine, magical ways, but there was nothing subtle in the way she looked at him like she wanted to suck the sin right out of his bone marrow. Sucking was always a good thing.

It was a big problem while he was having to keep up with renovations though.

“Annika…”

“Yes, Cross?” She batted her lashes. She wasn’t about to make this easy.

“I didn’t come in here expecting…shit.” He blew out a long, agonizing breath.

“You didn’t come in here expecting shit?” She lifted a brow quizzically.

He’d never had a woman turn him inside out so easily. “Annika—”

“Yes, we’ve established that my name is Annika.” Her wicked smile hit him in his gut.

“My communication stinks, so don’t make this harder than it is already.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look—”

“Oh no. Any sentence that starts with ‘look’ never ends well.” She plucked a strawberry from her bowl and bit into it.

“I think you’re enjoying this,” he said with meaning.

“You just seem…well, hot. Do you need a fan?”

“No.”

She stood and sashayed over to him, crawling into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Let’s not fight this any longer. I’m all in. How about you?”

God, what was wrong with him? His dick was hard and he was having trouble swallowing. He’d never been this affected by any woman.

“You’re sweating profusely,” she said with a smile.

“I need to say something,” he croaked.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Things are a bit…hard.”

“Oh? Am I too close?”

“I’m burning up.” He tugged at the neckline of his shirt.

“Fine. Say what you have to say and I’ll listen.” She stood and a frown developed over her sweet mouth.

He stood too, mainly because sitting became too unbearable. Cross wanted to say “screw it”, grab her up into his arms, and whisk her upstairs. Unfortunately, why did he feel like he’d be betraying his family? Betraying Cade? Could he trust Annika? What if he gave in to his feelings and she left again?

Cross stopped near the edge of the flower bed, debating his next words. When he finally had his head in order, he turned and snapped his mouth shut. How the hell had she managed to get near him so fast? She was now only a few feet from him.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“A lot.”

“Are you okay?” She pressed her hand against his forehead. “You’re sweating even more and you feel a little warm.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look a little swollen.” Concern covered her expression.

Why did his throat feel sore and his lips tingle?

He was beginning to believe that maybe he wasn’t okay.

“Cross, are you having an allergic reaction?”

“I’m not having an allergic reaction.” His stomach ached and his skin itched.

“I know a reaction when I see one.”

“I’m okay. I just want to talk to you about…” Then he felt a tingle in his tongue that quickly spread. He saw her squint and then her eyes rounded in shock.

“Are you feeling prickly and flushed?”

“Yes, but we need to talk. I have something I need to get off my chest.” Ah hell. “Why is it so damn hot?”

Small Town Romance

For those who don’t know me, I’m Rhonda Lee Carver. I’m a bestselling author of contemporary western and romantic suspense, but love to write other genres too. I enjoy stories that keep readers laughing, crying, gripping the edge of their seats, and screaming all in one book…like riding a virtual roller coaster. Whether creating sexy cowboys or tough guys, or sassy, independent heroines, readers are sure to find strong, powerful, memorable characters that are relatable.

By day, I tap into my creative, fictional world but at some point, I transition back into reality where I’m a volleyball-stands cheerleader, homework virtuoso (at least, I think so), amateur nurse to skinned knees, a mediocre chef with some awesome microwave skills, pet-guru (all the strays show up at our house), and a Jackie of all trades for my kids who are the loves of my life. Yoga and chocolate keep me sane. Hallmark movies require cuddling up with tissues because I can be emotional. I add a sprinkle of my own real-life adventures in each story I spin because a little truth never hurt anyone. I wouldn’t give up one thing in my crazy, chaotic, ever-amusing life, except, except I might do magic tricks for the bungalow on the beach I’ve had my eye on (GOALS).

Writing for me is like falling in love and finding a new best friend over and over again. My characters will find a place inside your heart too.

On Inspiration…

I’m asked a lot where I get the ideas for stories. Finding ideas has never been a problem. I have a storage bank inside of my head overflowing with storylines. I do, however, find hurdles when I’m creating unique characters. After writing one hundred books, I seem to gravitate toward clone characters. They have similar physical and behavioral traits. So, I’ve had to work to make each one exceptional and relatable. I like to create characters from real-life people. Those who triumph when they could easily give up. Like the man with a disability who walks each day on the highway. I’ll see him pushing his cart or carrying a bag of groceries. Sometimes in the rain. Other times in the sweltering heat. He refuses any help. Also, the homeless man and his dog who I see frequently wandering the streets of a nearby town. He has a story to tell—a tragic story of drug abuse and a childhood marked with neglect. A friend of a friend had passed away from Leukemia. He didn’t have children because of chemotherapy. His wife says that her one regret was not having a child with him while he was well. I have intermingled their true stories with the fictional lives of my characters in The Brothers of Dove Grey, and another story I’m currently working on. If you haven’t already, I hope you’ll check out my books. With love, Rhonda Lee.

Connect with Rhonda Lee Carver
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UPDATE: The winner is…Cheryl!
*~*~*

It takes a snake? I can already imagine your eyebrows and frowns in disbelief as you respond, “To do what?” Like it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a snake to create community. What kind of community you talkin’ ’bout, Willis? The enmity placed between humanity and snakes in Genesis 3:15 is still real. What kind of community could be created by something so villainous as a snake? When I saw one crawling along the wall this week in my backyard I cringed. Yuk and yikes! I breathed a sigh of relief when it slithered away to the front yard. I raked the grounds to make sure there weren’t any others hiding there.

Two days later as I went to get the mail, I noticed a neighbor standing stock-still in front of his garage holding a rake and staring very pointedly at something I couldn’t see on the far side of his car. Sure enough, it was a snake. He didn’t want to kill it because he wasn’t sure what kind it was. “Bull snakes are good snakes,” he said, but if it were a rattler he’d have to kill it. We couldn’t see a rattle on the tail, but then we wondered if it might be a baby without a rattle yet. I stood in solidarity with my neighbor and stared at the slimy intruder. What to do, what to do?

At that moment my husband—traveling to visit family—called to say goodnight. I told him what was happening, and he said, “Call Spence. He knows all about snakes.” Spence is a good friend and fellow church member. I took a picture and messaged it to him. He called right back and said it was a baby king snake. Definitely non-venomous. Spence said you can tell venomous snakes from non-venomous ones by the shape of their pupils. Venomous snakes have slit pupils like cat’s eyes. Non-venomous ones have round pupils like dogs. I don’t think my cat Scully would appreciate the comparison. My neighbor and I peered at the photo and agreed the eyes looked round. Spence said he’d be over in fifteen minutes to take the snake back to the desert.

By now my neighbor’s wife had joined us. She helped trap the snake beneath a bucket. We introduced ourselves—me, Anna, he and she, John and Jeanette. We shared how long we’d lived on the block, where we were from, our experiences, and lack thereof, with snakes and our mutual hatred of the creatures.

Spence arrived, picked the little guy up and told us how it could grow to six or eight feet long. Shudder. He put it in a pillowcase and assured us it would be happier in the desert. John, Jeanette, and I wholeheartedly agreed. Spence drove off, John and Jeanette went back into their snake-free house, and I continued on to pick up the mail. It took a snake to create community between us.

So for a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments about an encounter where you got to know a neighbor better.

One Breath Away

Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.

Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.

Excerpt from One Breath Away…

On the rise overlooking Harvest Home, Banker Judah Little sat, his mouth stretched in horror.

“My God, what’s wrong with her?” He stared transfixed at the cabin, his hands clasped and shaking.

“No doubt reliving the torment of death.” A grudging smile graced Judge Aaron “Hangman” Denton’s face. “No one who cheats the hangman enjoys any kind of peace

After hundreds of pronouncements and hundreds of executions, he’d seen it all. He preferred these civil hangings to the military executions by firing squad he’d ordered during the War of Northern Aggression. Bullets brought death so quickly, he always felt cheated. But a hanging…His smile broadened. There was so much more to enjoy when there was a hanging.

The snap of the neck.

The sway of the body.

The discharge of the bowels.

He tongued the snuff in his cheek and spat the brown liquid into the dirt. The scents of sage and tobacco laced each breath he took.

Mary Hamilton had been his only failure. Crime deserved punishment. What difference did being a woman make? He’d condemned her to hang. Damn interfering crowd. And where in hell had that horseman come from? She’d be dead now but for him and those bleeding-heart busybodies.

Buy link: Amazon – https://amzn.to/2VT5u0F

Michal Scott Amazon Author Page – https://amzn.to/2TSHzRn

Pirates, Puritans, propaganda, and princes—pieces of the puzzle in the whirlwind romance between a beautiful jelly maker and a mysterious castaway.

Up until my thirties, I traveled a great deal, living in many countries with amenities that many would consider below standard. So it wasn’t until I married and settled down in an old farmhouse with an acre of land that I could indulge my fantasy of growing my own food. We planted apple, plum, peach, fig, hazelnut, and cherry trees; gooseberries, strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries; all kinds of vegetables, including an ill-fated attempt to grow artichokes; and finally, lots and lots of herbs. I built a formal herb garden and planted thyme, lovage, rosemary, chives, tarragon, sage, and lemon balm. The one thing I couldn’t get to grow was mint. Yes, the gardeners among you will scoff, but it took me years to get a plot to flourish. When it did, I had to do something or it would take over the entire acre.

So I called upon my sister-in-law, to whom Whirlwind Romance is dedicated. She directed me to an old recipe for mint jelly. Once the mint invasion was under control and I’d mastered the technique, I spent whole summers working up recipes for herb jellies. It was great fun. Despite the fact that I’m not really fond of jelly, they made excellent Christmas gifts.

When I started writing Whirlwind Romance, I thought about what my heroine, Lacey Delahaye, would do for a living. She lives alone in Florida, her one grown son. What could she do? I thought of the innumerable ecosystems in Florida, from pine uplands, to coastal plains, to palm hammocks—all of which are host to many wild fruits, most of which can be made into jelly. Ah hah! She’d be a jelly maker.

For fun, I added the recipes to each chapter. I hope you enjoy them as much as you do Lacey and Armand’s love story.

Whirlwind Romance

In the aftermath of a hurricane, Lacey Delahaye finds herself marooned on an island off the Florida coast with a mysterious man. Before he can confess his identity, they are kidnapped and taken to a tiny island in the western Caribbean. In a story laced with adventure and romance, Lacey encounters pirates, power-mad ideologues, and palace intrigue, not to mention the advances of three men, only one of whom she loves.

One of Lacey’s Recipes: Passionfruit Jelly

Passionfruit is a woody vine with strange, yet beautiful flowers. It grows in humid tropical lowlands. Ripening in the fall, the round fruit about the size of a plum is either golden or dark purple.

Passionfruit Jelly

5 lbs passionfruit for 2 cups juice
2 oz. water

Halve the fruits and scoop out filling. In a blender, quick pulse for a couple of seconds. Strain the juice. Repeat procedure 2-3 times, thinning with water if necessary, until juice is clear.
2 cups juice

1 ¾ cups water
7 ½ cups sugar
6 oz. (2 packets) liquid pectin

Combine juice, water and sugar in a large pot.  Bring to a full, rolling boil over high heat, stirring constantly.  Add liquid pectin.  Remove from the heat, skim off any foam and pour into hot, sterilized jars leaving 1/4 inch space between the jelly and rim of the jar. Upend jars and leave 5 minutes, then turn right side up and tighten lids.

Makes 4 pints.

Excerpt from Whirlwind Romance: Slipping Briskly

The full moon shone through the window, illuminating Lacey’s nodding head. Armand touched her cheek. “I think it’s your bedtime.”

Stung, she shot back, “I’m taking care of you, remember?”

He held up a hand. “Sorry! I’d forgotten.” After a moment, he asked, his tone diffident, “Can you help me up?”

Lacey put an arm around his back and together they limped to Crispin’s room. She took his pants and shirt off and folded them neatly. As she turned to leave, he touched her arm. “Stay a minute?”

How could she admit she had to get out of there quickly or she wouldn’t be able to go at all? His handsome face—the strong chin covered with stubble, the pearly teeth contrasting with his tan skin, not to mention the long, graceful fingers he held out to her—all conspired to lure her closer. Her heart led the way, propelling her to his side. She sat down. “What is it?”

“Lacey…um.”

Her body tensed as desire fought to get out, and she fought just as hard to keep it in. I have to go. I have to…go. “What?”

His words came out in a rush. “Lacey, the other day—the first night—when you rescued me. When we…we…”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Christ.

“I…uh…want you to know I don’t do that on a regular basis.”

His air of shy ambivalence gave her courage. “I see. You don’t have sex on a regular basis?”

“No, no, it’s not that.” He stopped, flustered. “Er, I mean… I don’t sleep with women indiscriminately.”

Should she let him off the hook? Nah. “But you do sleep with a lot of women?”

“No! Lacey, you’re being difficult on purpose. I meant, that I didn’t mean to…you know. It just happened. Forgive me?”

“I—”

Armand interrupted her. “Not that it wasn’t enjoyable.” He seemed distracted, running a finger down her arm. “Wonderful. Fantastic. Too short.” He peered at her. “Lacey, you must know how beautiful you are. You have the most perfect cheekbones I’ve ever seen.”

“Cheekbones?” What the hell is he talking about?

“I’m an amateur photographer. Those cheekbones could belong to a supermodel. Perfectly sculpted. And your nose…” He tapped the tip. “A little pixie nose. It even turns up slightly. Your long, fine hair is the russet-gold of burnished copper pots I once saw piled high in a shop on Martinique. Your eyes…” He closed his. “Your eyes are the blue-green of a freshly mowed cricket field, of the emeralds that grow deep in the mountains, of the lagoon near my home on a blustery day.” He touched her hand. “Then there’s your body—as I remember it—a soft, comfortable, pillowy—”

“Hey!” Lacey shook her head to break the spell. “I think you’ve said enough. Get some sleep.”

She tried to rise, but he slipped his arms around her and drew her close. She wanted to struggle. She tried to struggle. It was no use. The long kiss filled her with a warmth that matched a fire on a cold night, a cup of cocoa, or a hot bath. When he lay back, the warmth turned to blazing passion. The power of it frightened her. I’ve got to go. She ran out of the room before he could stop her.

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About the Author

Librarian, anthropologist, Congressional aide, speechwriter—M. S. Spencer has traveled the globe. She has published fourteen romantic suspense or murder mystery novels, with two more on the way. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

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