I’m often asked, when did you fall in love with writing? Such a great question. At thirteen, I read a Harlequin romance novel and fell hard. I decided then that I wanted to create love stories. I wrote short stories and shared them with my friends for years. I’ve come along way because now I share my stories with thousands of readers. I’d love to say that I’ve been lucky to have a writing career, but luck has nothing to do with where I am today. When I first started writing seriously, I had a baby on one hip and a laptop on the other. The first couple of books I wrote were written long hand (and probably why I have deformed pointer fingers) in notebooks during the night when my husband and kids were asleep. I also had a day job, so I had gotten good at balancing.
Here are some things you should know about me…
I wear my heart on my sleeve. My books are a true reflection of who I am. My characters are flawed, big-hearted, and full of emotion.
I’m afraid of what’s under the bed. Yes, it’s funny, but it’s true. I’ve had this fear since I was little.
I enjoy baking, painting, yoga, and volleyball. They’re stress relievers for me. My family tells me that I’m competitive and I guess that it’s true. I love to play sports, and will demand a rematch if I didn’t do as well as I hoped.
I tend to overthink. 😊
Did you know that I have a new release?
The Ryders and Thorns have been enemies for as long as she can remember. When she finds herself in the middle of a tug-of-war, she’ll have to pick sides. Her choice might tear her family apart…
Circumstances bring her back into the path of a cowboy she fell for once upon a time. To keep her heart safe, she must abide by some rules…
1. No lusting after LB Ryder. He’s hotter than ever, but that ship has sailed.
2. Ignore how the cocky cowboy makes her want to bite nails…and do unbelievably bad things.
3. No kissing, touching, or believing in an enemies-to-lovers fairytale. She won’t take a stroll down memory lane, especially with a man who is T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
4. Break rules 1-3 and repeat. Rules were meant to be broken anyway.
Haisley has always gravitated toward LB. Handsome, smart, cocky, and determined, he’s just the type of guy she finds challenging. And he’s about the only one who isn’t afraid to put her in her place.
LB has avoided the Thorns for years, but when the oldest brother steals a prized horse, LB’s ready to seek revenge. Then Haisley pops back into his life, stirring up the past and making demands. The chemistry is still scorching and the only thing sweeter than revenge is a stroll down memory lane.
As things heat up, LB and Haisley stop fighting each other and are forced to make tough choices…and find a way to navigate a secret that can either start a civil war between the Ryders and Thorns or end a four-decade old feud.
Readers who love enemies to lovers, second chances, and happily ever after won’t be able to put this book down. Craving a Second Chance is packed with emotion, grit, conflict, and a splash of suspense.
Book 1- Whiskey Ryder’s Second Chance
Book 2-Protecting His Second Chance
Book 3-Craving a Second Chance
EXCERPT:
“Still breaking hearts and bulls, huh, cowboy?”
LB Ryder flicked his eyes open and stared at the tent wall. He’d fallen asleep on the bed in the sickbay at the arena after a game of Cowboy Poker. The aches and pains, and the tweaking of an old back injury, were worth being the last cowboy sitting at the table. He took home the gold, and honor, of winning the final event at the annual Wildflower Rodeo Olympics.
Hell, the ass whoopin’ he got from the bull was worth watching Cruise Thorn lose. The son-of-a-gun had taken home the win three years in a row and thought the bull would be a Duck Spinner. Bad mistake. The meanest bull in the lot was drawn.
“Lookin’ good,” came the soft female voice again as the sheet over his backside lifted.
“Hey? Do I know you?” He was slowly coming more awake and aware that something wasn’t right. “I’m waiting for sports med.” The lady working the desk at the front of the tent told him a fellow would be examining him when the other cowboys, who got it worse, were finished.
Holding onto the ice bag against his temple, he lifted his head to get a look at who was in the room and caught a glimpse of dark hair.
“I am sports med. I’m helping Drew because it looks like the bull was the only thing that walked away from that event with his pride intact.” He caught the sarcasm in her tone.
Something about her voice sounded vaguely familiar. He started to sit up, but her fingers dug into the sore muscles of his back, causing him to grunt in pain. Damn, he didn’t realize how badly he’d hurt himself. He clenched his teeth as the pain radiated down into his legs.
He was getting too old for the rodeo.
“Does this hurt?” She moved her kneading to another part of his back.
“Not as much as the other side.” He relaxed.
“Congratulations on winning, by the way.” She buried her knuckles into the muscles on either side of his spine and he felt an instant release. He’d expected to get a bandage and a shot of cortisone, not a massage, but he wasn’t complaining.
“Thanks.”
“This is definitely an event aimed at cowboys who have more brawn than brains.”
LB squinted at the remark. “You don’t like charity events, or just cowboys in general?”
“I wouldn’t call four men sitting around a table, playing poker, in the middle of an arena with an angry bull stalking around them being very smart. I could think of a hundred other ways to contribute.”
He laughed. “And miss the friendly competition? What fun would that be?” The competition was anything but friendly. Cowboys took the annual event seriously.
He’d participated in every event from roping cattle, riding broncos, barrel racing, hot pepper eating contest, even a chili cook off, and a line dance competition. The Wildflower Rodeo was a veritable cowboy triathlon, some events tested a cowboy’s endurance, and some were included to make spectators laugh. All proceeds were donated to the charity of choice. Through most of the events, LB and the eldest Thorn brother had been neck and neck in points, but the Cowboy Poker pushed LB ahead because Thorn was sent packing by the bull.
Her fingers were now on his shoulders. “You’re a bit tense.”
“Yeah, it’s been a bit of a tiring two days.”
“You unfortunate thing. I’m sure it has been. I can give you a shot for inflammation and another for pain. You don’t mind needles, do you?”
He sensed animosity in the woman’s words. Angry women and syringes never mixed well in his experience. “A couple of pain pills, some rest, and I’ll be good as new come tomorrow.”
“Then let me see if I can work the tension out of these muscles. We wouldn’t want our star cowboy hurting, now, would we?”
LB opened his mouth to respond, maybe even suggest he didn’t need her services, but she dug her fingers into his shoulders. Even though her bedside manner left a lot to be desired, he enjoyed the brutal massage. Most therapists were too gentle.
He eased his body into the bed. “You have a magical touch.”
A gasp fell off her lips and her hands paused. “Are you flirting with me?”
What the hell? “No, I was only complimenting your skills.” Curiosity rose in him. His instincts were going off like fire-alarms. “Did my brothers put you up to this?”
“Did your brothers also convince that bull to toss you over the rail?” Her voice reeked of cynicism.
LB had patience. Growing up with a house full of brothers, he’d built a wall of strength. Over the years, Bend, Rip, Dean, Raven, and Whiskey had all loved a good joke and any and every opportunity required a prank. LB could see any one of them sending in some random woman to give him a tough time. Hell, he might even have found this funny if he wasn’t banged up by a pissed off bull.
The sheet was pulled away and cooler air swept over his bottom. Now he wished he’d kept his jeans on and dealt with the cut on his butt cheek himself. “Did you say Drew was around?” LB would rather stick with someone he knew.
“He’s somewhere around here, I’m sure.”
He started to push up from the bed, but she pressed her fingers into his glutes, pushing him back down onto the hard bed. She did seem deceptively strong.
Now this was something new.
“About flirting, it’s okay if you can’t control yourself. I know how to manage men who get carried away. You wouldn’t be the first I’ve had to teach a lesson,” she said close to his ear.
LB swallowed hard. He’d never, in all his thirty-one years, taken advantage of a woman. His Pa would tar and feather any of his sons that would dare step a toe out of line with a female. They were taught respect and manners. “I’m feeling much better now. Thank you, but I’ll be heading on my way now.”
“Was it something I said?” she said in a sweet, innocent voice.
“Yeah, I believe it was.”
“Well, please accept my apology. I’m a bit new to this. Will you give me one more itty-bitty try?”
Reluctantly, he nodded. “Sure. It would be best if we don’t talk.”
“My lips are sealed,” she said perkily.
He heard the rustling of paper then she practically smacked a bandage on the cut. At least he didn’t need stitches.
Then her fingers were on the backs of his thighs, kneading the tight muscles. God help him, he couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d received a massage that was both blissful and torture all at the same time. He didn’t know whether to relax or anticipate the next time she’d find a pressure point and cause him bittersweet agony. LB decided to lay his head down and close his eyes. She knew better than he did what he needed for his injury.
“So, Cowboy,” she purred. “What made you decide to participate in the Wildflower Rodeo Olympics? I haven’t seen you around in a few years.”
He thought they weren’t supposed to talk.
“Two things. Helping my charity and taking home the title of best cowboy,” he mumbled against the sheet he had his face buried against. He’d leave out the small detail that he enjoyed beating Thorn at something the man had always been good at.
“I’d say it’s pretty lucky that you took first place. If my mind doesn’t fail me, I remember that other fellow, Cruise Thorn, almost winning.” He could hear a lid being opened, a squirting sound then the wet slapping of her hands.
LB stiffened some, couldn’t help himself. “Winning has nothing to do with luck. You’re either skilled, or you’re not.” He wouldn’t say he knew from the beginning that he had the win in the bucket, but he’d kept his nose to the grindstone and stayed focused. From the get-go, all bets were on Thorn. He and his family were well-known in Wildflower Ridge as billionaire superstars.
Harriet was born Harriet Adams on March 15, 1825 of mixed-race heritage in Milford New Hampshire. Her mother was an Irish washerwoman. Her father was of African-American and Indian heritage and made barrels. Orphaned by her mother after her father’s death the courts made Harriet an indentured servant to the Hayward family until she was eighteen. In 1851, she married a sailor, named Thomas Wilson and bore a son named George. Wilson died at sea and Harriet and her son went to live on the county Poor Farm.
Not without resources, in 1857 she produced and sold a line of hair care products which her ads claimed to be the real thing for anyone looking to have good hair. Unlike Annie Malone and Madame C.J. Walker, Harriet’s products weren’t targeted only to African-Americans. From 1860 to 1861 she was able to distribute along the east coast by partnering with a white druggist.
Two years later, she wrote an autobiographical novel, Our Nig, in order to make money for her sick son’s health care. He died in 1860. With the advent of the Civil War, her sales dwindled when her partner sold his business.
By 1867, she had become known in Spiritualist circles as “the colored medium. The Boston Spiritualist newspaper, “Banner of Light,” called Harriet “Boston’s earnest and eloquent colored medium.” From 1867 through the 1880s, she spoke all throughout New England at camp meetings, spiritualist conventions, in theaters, meeting houses and in private homes throughout New England. Her speaking engagements often placed her on programs alongside other medium/spiritualists like Cora L.V. Scott and Andrew Jackson Davis. Harriet also made house calls and held medical consultations as a Spiritualist nurse and healer (“clairvoyant physician”).
She married again in 1870, this time to a pharmacist named John Gallatin Robinson. The marriage ended in 1877 although no divorce has been recorded. From 1879 to 1897, Harriet worked as the housekeeper of a boardinghouse in the South End of Boston where she rented out rooms, collected rents and provided basic maintenance.
On June 28, 1900, Hattie E. Wilson died in Quincy Massachusetts at the Quincy Hospital.
Today, Harriet is best known for “Our Nig; or, Sketches from the Life of a Free Black,” published in September 5, 1859 anonymously by a firm in Boston. The cover page of Our Nig reads “Our Nig, Sketches from the Life of a Free Black in a two-story white house, North, showing that slavery’s shadow falls even there.” It was felt because of her critique of Northern racism the book did not do well as Uncle Tom’s Cabin published in 1852. The rediscovery of Our Nig by author/historian Henry Louis Gates brought Harriet into prominence in 1981. He declared hers was the first novel written by an African-American woman. This has been debated because Our Nig is said to be more autobiographical than fiction. The novel is in the public domain and can be read for free here: https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/584/pg584.html
In any case, once again I learned another woman proved she would not be hemmed in by the limitations placed on her by society because of her race and gender.
For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card share your thoughts about Harriet in the comments.
“Take Me to the Water”
by Michal Scott from Silver Soldiers
SILVER SOLDIERS: A BOYS BEHAVING BADLY ANTHOLOGY will satisfy the reader who craves stories with older alpha male heroes—those salt-and-pepper hotties with crow’s feet earned through rugged training and years of combat. Former soldiers finding their footing after their first careers, or current soldiers nearing the end of their military careers. They’re ready to find the right partner to put down roots, ones who aren’t afraid of scars and rough edges.
Weeksville Third Baptist Church glistened and glittered in 1880’s homemade Christmas regalia. Beribboned holly swags and fragrant pine cones infused the sanctuary with seasonal joy. Seasonal joy that missed the mark with Ambrose Stewart.
He remained ramrod-straight in the last pew despite the minister’s personal invitation for Ambrose to come forward for prayer. He refused the offer with a smile and a shake of his head.
The choir sang the hymn of invitation.
Take me to the water to be baptized.
He winced as the song took him back to that night when he and Hephzibah had sung those words to each other in a wonder-filled coupling of cock and pussy.
Several penitents came forward and stood before the smiling minister as the song continued.
None but the righteous shall see God.
Grumbling and gasping parishioners glared at Ambrose with get-on-with-it-stupid expectation.
“What’s he waiting on?”
“You’d think a disgraced, court-martialed soldier would be the first to go forward for forgiveness.”
Ambrose ignored them. He knew how not to be worn down by peer pressure. He’d only come to church hoping to find Hephzibah.
Hephzibah.
Her name meant “my delight is in her.”
His delight had always been in her. Of all days, he’d felt sure she would come to church the Sunday after Christmas.
“I would have come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together-knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.” ― Leigh Bardugo, Crooked Kingdom
What makes the perfect hero for you? Is he a friends-to-lovers type or do you favor the bad boy or even the villain-turned-lover?
I’ll admit, I’m a sucker for the hero who says the words, “Who did this to you?” Or maybe even growls them. Yep, growling would definitely be better. There’s nothing like that toe-curling growl.
Here’s a list of my top three fantasy romance heroes. They are all more than capable of a good growl. Feel free to add your hero pick in the comments!
1) Hawke Flynn, from Jennifer L. Armentrout’s From Blood and Ash
“With my sword and with my life, I vow to keep you safe.” – Hawke
Hawke is an interesting hero because he’s not only friends to lovers, but he’s enemies to lovers, too. He starts off as the handsome man Poppy kisses in a tavern on her illicit “night out.” When he’s assigned to her as one of her bodyguards, he becomes her fiercest protector and slowly her friend. But by the end of Book 1 in this series, things take a fierce twist. You’ve never seen friends-to-lovers-to-enemies done like this before! I highly recommend checking out this unputdownable series (especially if you like medieval vibes and vampires).
2) Rhysand, from Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses
“He thinks he’ll be remembered as the villain in the story. But I forgot to tell him that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key. He was the one who let me out.” – Feyre
Like most readers, I hated Rhysand at first. Last night I saw a new Sarah J. Maas reader post in a Facebook romance reader group I’m in saying just three words: “I HATE RHYSAND!” The comments below the post were hilarious, as you’ll understand if you’re already an ACOTAR (A Court of Thorns and Roses) fan. The fandom itself is worth reading the series for. Fans of SJM are rabid and devout. There are so many memes and so much fan artwork! And it’s fun to be in on the “twists” of the story.
One of the biggest ones of which is… (STOP READING NOW IF YOU DO NOT LIKE SPOILERS)
That Rhysand may begin as Feyre’s enemy but he slowly worms his way into her heart and reveals himself to be villainous only for the very best reasons (protecting his people is a great reason imo). Moreover, Rhysand and Feyre share something very few romance heroes and heroines share (maybe Jamie and Claire from Outlander are one exception) – similar trauma, right down to their tormentor, which helps them to bond.
3) “Max” Maxantarius Farlione from Carissa Broadbent’s Daughter of No Worlds
“I wanted him in so many ways. As a friend, as a kindred soul, as a fierce teammate. As skin and lips and teeth. As a hitched breathless moan in the darkness or a lazy embrace in the sunrise. I wanted that. I wanted it all.” – Tisaanah
Okay, Max is my exception here because he fits the villain or enemy definition in only the loosest terms. His villainy was forced upon him (read the book to find out how). By the time our heroine Tisaanah meets Max, he’s a quintessential grumpy hermit. With a nice age gap to boot! Max becomes Tisaanah’s mentor and as he trains her in the ways of magic, a friendship slowly blossoms. This is a slow burn romance but the romance is absolutely there! I’m looking forward to finally getting to book 2 of this series.
And finally, my very own fantasy romance hero can be found in my newest release. Queen of Roses is out April 15, 2023. Here’s a quick excerpt…Then keep scrolling for a giveaway!
“Who did this to you?” Draven’s voice was a guttural growl. The sound of a furious animal, not a man.
I shook my head mutely.
“You won’t tell me? You think I won’t find out for myself?” He shook his head as if in frustration. “Morg–”
My eyes widened.
He tried again. “Princess. My lady.” I could see him trying to soften his voice. Which was impossible. A steel sword could never become silk. “Tell me so I may help you. That is all I ask.”
I tried to clear my throat. When my words emerged, my voice was hoarse and cracked. “Thank you, but… there is no need for any of this. I’m fine.”
This time he really did growl. A sound low and deep in the back of his throat.
I tried not to flinch. I failed.
“Last night in the market. Now this. You are not fine.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. “Tell me this. Has it happened before?”
I was quiet.
The truth was, it had. But not this badly. Last night… Last night was the worst.
Florian had cornered me before. He had hurt me, bruised me. He had even used his knife. I had small scars in a few hidden places from those encounters.
But compared to last night, those had all been childsplay.
Again I thanked the Three that Draven could not see the rest of the marks I bore. Strange, the things we thought we ought to be grateful for.
If he could see Florian’s name carved across my chest, just above my breasts, well… I had the feeling he would explode into a tempest of rage that nothing would be able to contain.
Want to win a copy of Queen of Roses and other great books? Enter to win a collection of paranormal and fantasy romance books here! (Contemporary and Historical Romance collections available, too!) https://coverandpage.com/april-bookbub-follow-giveaway/
UPDATE: The winners are…Debra Guyette, Flchen, and Cindy!
*~*~*
I was a little stressed last week. And it was all my fault.
You see, I have a new dragon shifter book releasing on April 19th, which means I’m smack in the middle of the last-minute prepwork for it. Final edits, formatting, ARCs, and uploading the final-final-final version to the online retail sites, etc.
But as of the submission of this blog post, I don’t have a final-final-final version of my book. Because I made a rash (inspired?) decision that upended an important aspect of my current book, and all the books in this series: new covers.
I know it might seem weird to rebrand and recover a series before that series is finished. Or even before the second book is published. But the first book, What a Dragon Wants, was originally intended to be a one-off standalone novella. This story is rife with the concept of opposites interconnected to create a whole: a Viking man and a Chinese woman, a white dragon and a black dragon, storms and fire, yin and yang… So the cover was designed to help convey this.
However, right before I published What a Dragon Wants, I made the impulsive decision to turn it into the first book of a series. After all, the hero had three hawt dragon shifter older brothers who absolutely HAD to have their stories written, and who was I to deny them their happily-ever-afters? The Star of the North Dragon series was born as almost an afterthought.
Does that mean the cover concept for my first book works for an entire series? No, it doesn’t. Not without a lot of unnecessary struggle and mediocre results, no matter how talented my amazing cover artist is. So, when I reached out for the cover to What a Dragon Needs, I was made the impulsive suggestion we re-do it all. And I don’t regret it for a second, because my amazing cover artist can work magic.
I’d be lying if I said I gave her plenty of time. It’s my own fault this last week was so stressful. I wanted something to show for this blog. I wanted to send out ARCs with the actual cover and not a place-holder. I need to upload the final-final-final file. Letting brash, ooh-shiny-object author decisions divert me from my vaguely-outlined publishing plan does a number on the stress levels. Ultimately, my books (and readers) benefit from these decisions. My nails will grow back and the new gray hairs will blend with the established grays. But maybe, just maybe, I can learn from this and better plan my work and work my plan. Think further in advance what my book offerings will be. Better outline my—
Oh, what if I wrote mermaid series?!
Contest
For a chance at a Kindle version of my What a Dragon Needs dragon shifter book, tell me of a time when your plans got hijacked by another (better?) plan.
Dragon Council Emissary Lucia Bengtsson visits Minnesota’s clan to discover how they thwarted a recent invasion by a long-prophesized World Destroyer. What she finds is a family that welcomes her with an unquestioning warmth she’s never experienced among her own clan members, who have always judged her by the diminutive size of her Light Dragon. Only the sexy yet antagonistic Ivar Drekison offers her support even as he keeps her at arm’s-length. Arms she desperately wants wrapped around her.
Third-born son of the Star of the North clan, Ivar Drekison’s attitude is as sharp and cold as his Metal Dragon’s claws. When gorgeous yet standoffish Lucia arrives to interrogate his family on their battle strategies, he senses an underhanded betrayal brewing. While everyone else adores Lucia and her gentle manners, Ivar clashes with her in an attempt to force the truth behind her visit. In doing so, he must also battle his own overwhelming attraction to her.
What a Dragon Needs Excerpt…
Ivar stood in one fluid motion and headed toward the sliding screen door, his face set in what must be his resting expression of bored disdain. He stepped close enough Lucia warmed from the heat radiating off his body. Or was that her own temperature rising?
“I’m just gonna squeeze right past ya there.” He murmured as his arm brushed against hers, even though there was plenty of room to pass.
If he’d cut her with a knife, she wouldn’t have been more surprised, and she barely halted the instinctive flinch at his voluntary contact. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stifle the soft gasp that passed her lips. She flicked a glanced at his face. Still bored disdain, but with a devious lift to one side of his mouth and a glint of humor in his eyes. Before she could discern his reaction or apologize for hers, he had stepped past.
“Ivar, grab Miss Bengtsson something to drink while you’re in there.” Arkyn called out as he helped Ulrik heap the grilled meats on serving plates.
Ivar’s snort of contempt rumbled in his throat. “I suppose next you’ll ask me to put her food in her mouth and chew it for her.”
Lucia whirled around as the others yelled a chorus of afront from his comment. She opened her mouth to say something that would put him in his place, to wipe that arrogant expression off his face. But what? If she were Lin, she would likely have an arsenal of biting retorts. But she wasn’t Lin. She was the emissary from the Dragon Council, and had to behave in a manner that would reflect well on all of them, her father included. A snappy comeback was out of the question, even if she had one.
So she dipped her head in a show of honor and forced her voice not to tremble. “That would be unnecessary, as I do not have a hot box.”
His smile turned fiendish, like a dragon with a wounded prey. Why the—Helvete! She’d mixed up her English words and said the wrong one. So much for reflecting well on the Council. She grappled with how to correct her verbal blunder and repair any damage, but Ivar’s gaze heated like a furnace and raked her form again, searing the words in her throat.
“Well, Miss Dragon Council Emissary. If you ever do find yourself with a hot box, we can revisit who will put what in whose mouth.” He took a long swig of his beer as if parched. The heat in his eyes cooled as his normal demeanor returned. “In the meantime, we’ve welcomed you into our home. Make yourself comfortable.”
He flicked the empty bottle in a nearby trash can as he crossed the threshold into the house, tossing over his shoulder as he disappeared from view. “That’s English for get your own beer.”
Plagued with guilt after her brother’s death, a grieving woman has a chance at a second chance.
Living in a haze of mistrust and tragedy, Chosen Shaw has closed herself off from everyone. Once known for her ability to see things that can help others, she’s now the woman who killed her brother.
Bend Ryder is the new sheriff in town and has a mess to clean up after the last one met an untimely death. He’s eating, sleeping and breathing a cold case involving a mysterious kidnapping, and is willing to do anything to solve the case—even if that includes looking outside of the box. Truthfully, he doesn’t believe Chosen has a “gift” but enlisting her help might be his only hope.
But, she’s left that world behind. Can he convince her to help?
Soon, they find themselves embroiled in another kidnapping.
The two find a solid connection, despite the pressures all around them. As trust and romance grow, the demons of the past start to build walls. They have a tight hold on her emotionally and physically. If she has any chance for a future with the man she loves, she must absolve herself from the guilt and let love heal her heart…and help solve a crime that has been a dark cloud over Second Chance.
Protecting His Second Chance is a story of grief, guilt, angst, redemption, and a happily ever after. Love is the ultimate healer.
“It’s okay. This happens to all men.” The seductive blonde brushed her fingers down his bare abs.
Bend Ryder drew his hand away from his forehead and looked down at the woman curled up beside him in his bed. She peered up at him through a veil of thick eyelashes and her plump lips slowly eased into a teasing grin. Farrah was new in town, visiting after her uncle, Sheriff Jackson Mellough, met an untimely death on Snowbleed Mountain.
Two days after his private funeral, the town of Second Chance elected Bend to office—or rather dumped the duties into his lap and expected him to clean up the mess. Since then, he’d been busy undoing everything Mellough had done over his long career.
Farrah slid her fingers along the waistband of his boxers. “It’s the stress.” Her slight movement caused the sheet to slip away from her hip. A diamond glistened at her belly button and a quarter sized heart tattoo sat an inch above her pelvic bone. Sweat beaded Bend’s brow and he cursed under his breath.
“Maybe I can help solve the problem,” she purred.
She shifted to her knees, but Bend caught her shoulders in a gentle grip. Her chin snapped up and she nailed him with her brooding brown gaze. The tip of her tongue slid over her bottom lip as if to remind him what he was missing.
A woman as beautiful and desirable as Farrah had never faced this problem, he surmised, even if she tried to pacify his ego by saying this sort of thing happened all the time. A streak of disappointment sliced through him. Truthfully, he’d never had this particular issue before tonight.
Maybe it was the stress.
“I don’t think this is going to work.” He kicked the sheet away from his feet and slid to the edge of the bed. “Sorry.” He stood, glancing down at her. She now had the sheet tight against her breasts as if she were saving the view for someone worthy.
Damn. He was broken.
Grabbing his jeans off the floor, he stepped into them. He realized her gaze was still on him, maybe expecting him to change his mind? He continued to pull his clothes on.
“I think I know what’s happening.” She bounced on the springy mattress, her smile returning.
“Then you mind explaining it to me?” What he wanted was for her to get dressed and leave so he could lick his wounded pride in peace.
“That case you’ve been working on. The cold case with the missing child. Something like that could just about wear down anyone.” She grabbed her cellphone from the nightstand and scrolled through the screen, giggling. “Do you have TikTok, cowboy?”
“Nope.” He turned his back to her.
“You should. These videos are so weird but they’re funny. Anyway, we could make a video with you asking the public for help. We can do that now.”
“I’ll think about it.” But he knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t want anything to do with social media, and he especially didn’t want to look at her. He was embarrassed, and no doubt this would be the first and last time he and Farrah would be naked together. She didn’t need to waste her time on a man who just dipped out on her.
The case of the missing five-year-old, Bradley Hoffman, did weigh heavily on Bend’s shoulders. Once he’d taken over as sheriff, he’d gone through the unsolved cases in the area and something about the information—or rather the lack there of—set off alarm bells in his head. For the last two months, Bend had been eating, sleeping, breathing the mysterious kidnapping. The boy had been riding his bike alone and he vanished from the dead-end road leading to the apartment complex where he and his mother lived. The bike had been found but the boy was gone. Mom’s call to Mellough didn’t come until the next day. Not one witness came forward and out of the ten or so people interviewed no one saw anything suspicious.
“It’s not called a cold case for no reason.” Farrah pushed herself off the bed, completely confident in her nude body.
He slowly fastened each button on his shirt while he watched her dress. She even did that with an air of seduction. He’d be kicking himself in the ass for days—maybe longer. He hadn’t been with a woman in months, and his dry spell wouldn’t be ended today. “I’ve turned over every stone, every piece of dirt, and I’ve found nothing. How can a child disappear without a trace?” He dropped down on the end of the bed and dragged over his boots.
Once she had her romper into place, she flounced over and plopped down beside him. “You’re being too hard on yourself. Jackson had been a lot of things, but one thing’s for certain, he loved the attention a solved, high-profile case brought him. Maybe this case isn’t solvable?”
Bend had never been a quitter. He wouldn’t have taken the job unless he knew wholeheartedly that he was a right fit, and had the right intentions. He agreed that Mellough loved his ego being stroked, but the man also had a lazy streak the size of Montana. “Every case is solvable.”
Farrah laid her hand on his shoulder. He liked her, but happily ever after just wasn’t in the cards for them. They enjoyed hanging out, grabbing a beer on occasion and discussing life. Although she could be a bit flighty and ran through men like an out-of-control bulldozer, she also had a good head on her shoulders. She had a lot of dreams for her future. Earlier, they’d been downstairs in Crew and Brew shooting some pool when out of the blue she asked if she could see his bedroom.
The rest was history…literally.
“Hey, it’s important that you stay ahead of this. You’re better than my bastard of an uncle. People don’t doubt this, so don’t doubt yourself. There will be plenty of cases.”
He offered her a smile. “You’re a good woman, Farrah.”
“I know.” She stood and jutted her chin at the crumpled bed sheets. “And that’s why I’m not going to let this bother me.”
When Abraham Lincoln met Harriet Beecher Stowe, he is quoted as saying, “So you’re the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war.” While Uncle Tom’s Cabin stirred the hearts and minds of many against slavery, Mary Ellen Pleasant struck an actual blow against it.
Born free in 1814, Pleasant was brought to Nantucket to work as an indentured servant for the Husseys, an abolitionist Quaker family in whose store she developed a knack for business. While with the Husseys, Mary encountered the blacks of Newtown who grew into a prosperous middle-class thanks to the whaling industry. She married James Smith, an abolitionist who identified as Hispanic. They hobnobbed with the abolitionists of Boston and helped runaways get to Canada. Upon Smith’s death, Mary inherited a sizable fortune and continued her work as a conductor on the Underground Railroad. In 1848, she married John Pleasants, a former slave and abolitionist who worked with her for twenty years against slavery.
She moved to San Francisco during the gold rush of 1849 and created wealth as a commodity trader, a money lender, and owner of businesses like laundries and lodgings and the Bank of California. She continued her abolitionist activities by using her money to help slaves escape from their masters who brought them there. Her ultimate contribution to the cause of ending slavery came in 1858 when she went to Canada and gave John Brown $45,000, $1.3 million in today’s dollars, for the raid on Harper’s Ferry. She laid claim to being the author of the note found on him when he was executed. She dictated an account of this in 1904’s How A Colored Woman Aided John Brown.
Her fight for civil rights in San Francisco continued when she brought two racial discrimination suits against streetcar companies in San Francisco, both ultimately settled in her favor. She established black schools and fought for the repeal of Jim Crow laws, earning her the nickname, “The Mother of Human Rights in California.” In his book Black Fortunes, Shomari Wills shares how she amassed a fortune of $30 million dollars, making her one of America’s first black millionaires.
It never ceases to amaze me how women like Mary Ellen Pleasant used the skills they had, in her case, the talents of a cook and domestic with a keen eye for business, to make life better not only for themselves but for others as well. Being a philanthropist was just a way of life.
In Black Fortunes, I learned her last days weren’t free from the drama racism wreaks upon the lives of pioneers like her, but thanks to this video done on her by a local San Francisco TV station during Black History month she at least has been given her due for posterity…
For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, leave a comment on what you think about Mary Ellen’s life.
Better to Marry than to Burn
Wife Wanted: Marital relations as necessary. Love not required nor sought…
A bridal lottery seems the height of foolishness to ex-slave Caesar King, but his refusal to participate in the town council’s scheme places him in a bind. He has to get married to avoid paying a high residence fine or leave the Texas territory. After losing his wife in childbirth, Caesar isn’t ready for romance. A woman looking for a fresh start without any emotional strings is what he needs.
Queen Esther Payne, a freeborn black from Philadelphia, has been threatened by her family for her forward-thinking, independent ways. Her family insists she marry. Her escape comes in the form of an ad. If she must marry, it will be on her terms. But her first meeting with the sinfully hot farmer proves an exciting tussle of wills that stirs her physically, intellectually, and emotionally.
In the battle of sexual one-upmanship that ensues, both Caesar and Queen discover surrender can be as fulfilling as triumph.
Excerpt:
Why would a woman of obvious education and means be willing to brave the hardships of life out West as an ex-slave’s mail order bride? With grave ceremony, he withdrew, unfolded, and then read the letter.
Dear Mr. King,
My name is Queen Esther Payne. I read your ad and found your inquiry both refreshing and intriguing. I stand five feet six and weigh one hundred forty pounds. All of my six brothers will attest that I am no wallflower and do not fear hard work. Also as I come from one of the most respectable families on Lombard Street, my Philadelphian stock guarantees I have the ability and the requisite knowledge to help you establish a legacy in Douglass. I can commit to the two years you require, provided the marital relations are limited to the “as necessary” stated in your ad. I am willing to negotiate if more than two years are required.
I have only had relations with women, so you need not fear I will fall in love with you. Thus your “love neither required nor sought” dictum proves no obstacle. However, my woman-loving-woman proclivities may disqualify me in your eyes. If so, I await your refusal. If not, I anticipate your proposal.
Sincerely,
Queen Esther Payne.
Caesar read and reread the line again.
I have only had relations with women, so you need not fear I will fall in love with you.
His Emma had only known women too until she united with him. Could fate be so kind as to smile upon him twice?
Looking back on your teen years isn’t always the most fun thing, but as a young adult author (who also has a tween series), I often find myself doing that. When I do events or book clubs, the readers always end up asking me about my own experiences back in those days, and sometimes I cringe thinking about those times. I actually have a chunk of time from early high school that I blocked out, but the later years and middle school years are still with me. Sometimes, life can feel like we never left high school or middle school as I still encounter mean girls and drama. But seeing as readers ask me for advice, I thought I’d share today a few things I wish I had known back then.
In my books, one of the big themes is embracing what makes you unique or special. We often focus on trying to fit in, but I find life opens up when we embrace what makes us different. It took me years to realize that things that made me different were the things that made me a writer such as looking at the world in a different way and sitting back and observing others.
Not all friendships are meant to last forever. No one likes hearing that or even thinking about it, but I think we often stay in friendships because of a shared history or because we’ve had a lot of time together. I still have friends from those years, but I’ve also had friendships that have run their course and that’s okay. People change—we’re supposed to—and what was once a close bond doesn’t always last. Values change, interests, and other things change and it’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up. Wish the other person well and root for them from afar.
It’s okay if not everyone likes you. You’re not supposed to be for everyone. Even your favorite singer/writer/actress has haters. In fact, when you feel down, go read reviews of your favorite celebrity and you’ll see no one is universally loved. Just cherish the people who do get you.
Here’s an excerpt from my pop star romance Cecily Taylor Series:
“Must be nice to have a hot pop star text you. Do you think he will contact you again?” Lila asked.
If he doesn’t, then I’ll die and probably never leave my room again. “I hope he does. I’d be seriously bummed if I—” Get dumped, get blocked online, see he’s dating someone else. “—don’t hear from him again,” I said.
“Does anyone else know he was the reason Zach got so mad at you when he walked in on Andrew trying to kiss you at the video premiere?”
“No, Zach didn’t tell anyone. I feel like it’d be weird if I told people that’s what happened. Like they wouldn’t believe me and think I was making it up to get attention,” I said.
“Yeah, I already heard a few people saying stuff.”
My stomach dropped. “Like what?”
“Huh? Oh…nothing major.” She gripped the steering wheel. “It’s impossible to find a spot on the street on a weekend.” I pressed her again, and she shrugged. “There’s a couple comments on his social media pages.”
Pulling out my phone, I went to the video’s link online and the first comment that came up was:
NoOneAndrewFan: Why did they pick HER out of all the girls in the world?
CaliGirlTwo: They couldn’t find any better than that chick?
Holidate008: She’s like if the word “plain,” was a person.
MusicIsLife: I think the point is that she’s not supposed to be hot, you guys Holidate008: I think she’s supposed to be the opposite of that other girl in the video.
CaliGirlTwo: Obviously Andrew has a jealous girlfriend and told him to find blah girls to be in his video.
SleepAllDayz: I bet Andrew’s managers don’t want his fans to be jealous of any of the girls they cast in his videos. Mission accomplished.
Meghynn: Seriously, I’ve seen cuter girls walking down my street and I live out in the sticks.
KellyKellz: I bet the other actress said they couldn’t cast another hot girl.
Meghynn: Andrew obviously didn’t do the casting for this one.
Holidateforever: Wow! Seems like no one has anything nice to say, all you guys want to do is trash people. if you don’t like what Andrew’s doing in his video… then bye!
TeenaRoger: Guys, Andrew would hate all these negative vibes! If you don’t have anything good to say about his work then don’t follow his page, don’t listen to his music, and DON’T bother commenting.
Holidateforever: I think she’s pretty. Jealousy isn’t cute, you guys.
“Oh crap. I didn’t even think to look at the comments before now. I guess it was so surreal to think I was actually in a music video that it didn’t even occur to me to go on and see what people were saying,” I said as my face burned with embarrassment. “Has everyone at school seen these?”
“Don’t worry about it. People suck and if it makes you feel any better, a lot of people at school aren’t even talking about it because they don’t want you to get all stuck up,” she said.
That was supposed to make me feel better?
“I was barely in the video. Why is everyone attacking me for a five second spot?” I asked trying to keep myself from crying.
“It sucks. I wish Andrew was here and he could just wrap you in a blanket and make you a cup of tea,” Lila said.
I laughed despite the fact I was trying not to throw up on myself. “Yup, like the perfect boyfriend.”
Krysten Lindsay Hager is a bestselling author of young adult, middle grade, and contemporary romance. Krysten writes because she loves bringing people swoony moments & hope-filled happily ever afters. Her books are known for making you laugh, cry, & swoon.
Along with relationships, her novels deal with self-doubt, finding where you belong, true friendship, & soulmates.
I’m often asked, when did you fall in love with writing? Such a great question. At thirteen, I read a Harlequin romance novel and fell hard. I decided then that I wanted to create love stories. I wrote short stories and shared them with my friends for years. I’ve come along way because now I share my stories with thousands of readers. I’d love to say that I’ve been lucky to have a writing career, but luck has nothing to do with where I am today. When I first started writing seriously, I had a baby on one hip and a laptop on the other. The first couple of books I wrote were written long hand (and probably why I have deformed pointer fingers) in notebooks during the night when my husband and kids were asleep. I also had a day job, so I had gotten good at balancing.
Two years later, she wrote an autobiographical novel, Our Nig, in order to make money for her sick son’s health care. He died in 1860. With the advent of the Civil War, her sales dwindled when her partner sold his business.
But as of the submission of this blog post, I don’t have a final-final-final version of my book. Because I made a rash (inspired?) decision that upended an important aspect of my current book, and all the books in this series: new covers.
