As a writer, I’m fascinated by women who use their agency to tell their own stories or stories others need to hear. This is particularly true of formerly enslaved women like Ida B. Wells Barnett, Harriet Jacobs, and Elizabeth Hobbs Keckley. I’d like to share today about Elizabeth.
In 1818, Elizabeth Hobbs Keckley was born into slavery in Virginia. The family that owned her allowed her to learn to read and write. She also learned sewing, the skill that eventually set her up in her own business. While still enslaved, her owners moved her to Missouri in 1846 where she used her sewing talent to raise money for her owners. It was here that she first caught Mary Todd Lincoln’s attention.
Elizabeth’s owners agreed to set her and her son free if she could raise $1,200. By 1855 with the help of vigilance committees, she was able to raise the money. She used her skills as a seamstress to pay back these loans. In 1860, she moved to Washington D.C. and built a dressmaking business thanks to referrals from Varina Davis, the wife of Jefferson Davis. One of Elizabeth’s patrons ordered a dress from her for the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln. This patron recommended her as a dressmaker to Mary Todd Lincoln. The rest as they say is history.
She was an integral part of the Lincoln household and recounts her life with them as part of her memoir, Behind the Scenes: Or Thirty Years A Slave and Four in the White House. However, the work was not as well-received as the narratives of other former slaves. Her recounting was seen as a breach of trust between her and Mary Lincoln. The book had poor sales, and she lost customers because of the controversy it created. The White House Historical Association has a fuller account of her life as a slave and her time in the White House on their website:
She did not let the book’s reception get her down. She defended what she did and continued to help others by teaching other Black women how to sew and founding two organizations to aid other Blacks: the Contraband Relief Association, a relief organization for Blacks freed by Northern troops and had come to Washington D.C. as “contraband of war,” and the National Home for Destitute Colored Women and Children. In 1892 she moved to Ohio to accept the position as head of the Department of Sewing and Domestic Science Arts at Wilberforce University. It is believed she suffered a stroke and returned from there to Washington D.C. where she died in the hospital she helped found. She was eighty-nine years old.
I love learning about women like Elizabeth Keckley, women who used their abilities to make life better for themselves and others. Her life is a witness to perseverance and encourages me to press on at a time when parts of our society seem hell-bent on stripping women of their rights. Share a story of your own about persistence in the comments for a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card.
One Breath Away
Sentenced to hand 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. Never having been courted, cuddled or spooned, Mary now fears any kind of physical intimacy when arousal forces her to relive the asphyxiation of her hanging. 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 a relationship with Mary 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.
Then just as Eban begins to win Mary’s trust, an enemy from the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…
An excerpt from One Breath Away…
Home at last, she’d see if meeting Eban meant this night would be good.
Since her ordeal, her sex rivaled the Chihuahuan Desert in dryness. Yet Eban’s gaze had summoned the fragrant flow that even now moistened her core. Could it be her body had finally healed? She swayed, dizzy with expectation.
The squeak of the indoor pump provided no distraction from the lingering tingle where Eban’s fingers had rested against her spine, where his lips had kissed her hand. She focused on her task to temper her excitement.
Fill the bucket. Lift the bucket. Carry the bucket. Empty the bucket. Fill the bucket. Lift the bucket. Carry the bucket. Empty the bucket.
The pans she filled slowly simmered then steamed on her small, pot-bellied stove.
Her heart seized as she fingered the simple gingham curtains covering Harvest Home’s windows. Harvest Home’s humble kitchen contrasted sharply with the trappings that had graced Mary’s Manor, her Weston restaurant expansion.
She’d looked up the word manor and decided her place would imitate that kind of luxury as much as possible. Brocaded drapes and white, linen tablecloths had dressed up the Manor’s supper room. Slipcovers made from the same linen covered the cushioned chairs. White, bone china and delicate silverware completed the picture of elegant dining she hoped to draw.
A Franklin stove, indoor pump, double sink, polished counter tops and spacious storage cupboards made the Manor’s kitchen a dream made true. Nothing lacked for the grand opening. Picturing couples enjoying themselves in her simple but elegant setting had become her favorite pastime.
Then Judah Little and his lies thwarted her plans. Thwarted. A good word. A true word.
“But not for long,” she whispered. “That dream will come true just as this dream might come true tonight.”
As a writer, I love all the characters who’ve shared their stories with me, but the Salvation Pack holds a very special place in my heart.
When I met them a decade ago, I’d planned a five-book series. Nine books later I was done. Or I thought I was. All the original pack members had their stories, along with new members we met along the way. What else was there to write about?
You know what they say about the best-laid plans, right?
I couldn’t stop thinking about the next generation, the kids of the original pack members. And I wasn’t the only person with questions. Readers kept asking me for more, so I dove back into that world and created the Salvation Pack: The Next Generation series.
While there may be more stories to tell in the future, Wolf in the Night is the last one I’ve planned for this series. The original pack is aging. I need to stop while everyone is happy and vibrant and loving life. It’s my happily-ever-after for a wolf pack I’ve loved for almost a dozen years. They’ve brought so much joy to my life.
I’ll be forever grateful to Jacque LaForge, Armand LaForge, Cole Blanchard, Gator Rollins, and Louis LaForge for changing my life forever.
I hope you enjoy Wolf in the Nightas much as I do.
Wolf in the Night
Salvation Pack: The Next Generation, Book 5
Driving home from a trip, Emma Matheson is run off the road in an abduction attempt. Seems the alpha of her father’s former pack never forgave his defection. To settle the old score, he plans to force her to mate with a male of his choosing—his son, Dmitri.
Dmitri Gribkov wants no part of his father’s revenge. A loner by choice, nothing has prepared him for sexy, stubborn Emma. He’ll do whatever it takes to protect her—even if it means losing her.
Determined to control her destiny, she does her best to escape, even as the attraction between her and Dmitri sizzles. Doesn’t take long for her to realize this huge, sexy wolf is a protector at heart.
Tracking and killing are what he does best. Before this is over, he’ll have blood on his hands, but winning her love will be the hardest battle.
From Wolf in the Night…
Fear had a taste, something she’d never realized until tonight. It was metallic and nasty. Her shirt, damp with sweat, clung to her torso. Some of her hair had escaped her braid and fell into her eyes.
She’d thought she was going to die.
Her throat throbbed. Her ribs ached. And tears filled her eyes.
Not yet. She couldn’t break down until she was safe. She sucked air into her starving lungs, unable to remember ever being so winded. Exhaustion, along with an adrenaline dump, was making it difficult for her body to heal.
It was the first time in her life anyone had intentionally tried to harm her. Growing up with an overprotective father and overprotective siblings, she’d lived a charmed existence, filled with love and acceptance.
None of it had prepared her for this … hatred. Ivan despised her, had enjoyed hurting her. Now he was gone, driven away by this mountain of a male.
She blinked several times, but he didn’t disappear, wasn’t a figment of her oxygen-deprived brain. The wolves of her pack were the deadliest she’d ever known. This one, the one Ivan had called Dmitri, might be the most dangerous she’d ever met.
Shaggy black hair fell around massive shoulders. The lower half of his face was covered by a thick beard. His eyes were the same color as the dark amber honey she used to sweeten her tea. Every muscle was sculpted and rippled when he moved. There wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him anywhere.
N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, assassins, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.
Want a peek inside the book coming out on June 21st? It’s part of the Athena Project series, which includes these books written by the fabulous Desiree Holt, Reina Torres, Jen Talty, and Regan Black inside Elle James’s Brotherhood Protectors World!
(And yeah, I know the picture says June 28, but it’s the 21st!)
Victoria’s Six
Read an excerpt!
A hard shoulder butted against her belly, taking away her breath. Not that her adversary today had given her the full might of his movement. Still, he managed to fold her over that said hard shoulder as he straightened and swept her off her feet. As she sailed behind him, she forced herself to go with it instead of tensing in anticipation, tucking in her chin before landing. Her surrender to the move lessened the impact when her back slapped the mat.
Dragging in a deep breath, Victoria Cross gave her sparring partner a stern glare. “You could’ve warned me we were starting again.”
He arched an eyebrow.
Yeah, that had been the point. He’d wanted to surprise her and check out her moves. He’d already made his opinion of her fitness for close-in, hand-to-hand combat measures perfectly clear. If they ever faced that sort of attack, she was to let him lead. Step behind him. Let his superior size and strength take the lead. Always.
Logically, she could see the sense of it. He was an ex-SEAL, built big and tall, not an ounce of lazy flab on his muscular frame. At thirty-seven, he was still in his prime. Battle-hardened.
And dear Lord was he hard.
Shoving that thought aside, she accepted the hand he offered her and let him pull her up in front of him. “You were holding back,” she said, frowning. Something that irritated the shit out of her because it was becoming a pattern. One she was trying to break because he needed to learn to trust in her skills and abilities.
“I used an appropriate amount of force,” he said, one corner of his mouth kicking up.
That half-smile and the deliberate deepening of his southern drawl had her seeing red—he was patronizing “the little woman.” She shot out both hands, slamming them against his chest while at the same time sweeping out a foot to catch him behind the ankles.
He didn’t budge.
She’d used the same move when sparring with her last partner and had planted his butt on the mat numerous times.
Logan Tackett sighed, gripped one of her arms, and turned her, folding her into his embrace so tightly she couldn’t use her elbows to strike his gut. Further, he quickly kicked out and hooked a leg around her ankles, preventing her from stomping on his foot. He had her completely trapped and under his control.
His head lowered, and he spoke into her ear. “You done?”
Seeing as they’d already spent an hour beating punching bags and each other, she relaxed, glad none of her friends were there to see her so overmatched. They’d have laughed themselves silly. “You can let me go now.”
“You sure?” he asked, his breath stirring the hair sticking to her cheek that had come loose from her ponytail.
“We have a meeting with Jake Cogburn in the conference room,” she reminded him while gritting her teeth.
His leg released hers. His arms fell away. When he stepped back from her, she felt a stirring of cool air against her sweaty back and strangely missed his warmth. “I’m heading to the shower,” she said. “See you at the meeting.” Then she quickly moved away, trying to leave behind some conflicting feelings—irritation with herself for not meeting the moment because she’d been working hard to earn his respect and disappointment that he’d let her go.
That last realization had her shaking her head. Logan was her partner. She’d never go there. Besides, she’d noted that he tended to have some old-fashioned views about a woman’s place in this organization. He’d have been fine with her if she kept to her lane—something she’d never accept.
This month on May 26th, my mother turned 92. As I thought about an African-American woman I wanted to honor in my post this month, Catherine Louise Williams Taylor Phillips came to my mind.
Lately, I’ve been asking her questions from a book/journal called My Mother’s Life: Mom I Want To Know Everything About You. I speak to her every morning and after our check-in ritual, I ask her if she’s ready for the question of the day. She says yes, answers what she can recall then shares anecdotes that have nothing to do with the question. That’s my momma.
I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the turn of the 20th-centuryth century song “M-O-T-H- E- R (M Is For The Million Things She Gave Me).” Here’s a vintage recording if you want to give a listen. It’s a schmaltzy ditty that touches my heart because of the mother I was fortunate to have. So today, I want to celebrate a few of the million things my mother gave me.
My mom was born on May 26, 1930 and was sent to live down South with her grandmother when she was a few months old. She shared with me that she didn’t even know there was a depression and regales me with stories of being the spoiled red-haired fox her uncles chided and chastised.
When Alex Haley’s Roots was televised, she wondered what the big deal was then proceeded to tell me about the Pitt family that owned her grandparents. When I let her know I’d decided to pursue a Masters degree two years after graduating from college and having worked in the big bad world of advertising, it was only then she shared that she had been hoping I would go back to school. She even declared, “Why who knows? You may want to go on and get a PhD.” That was the first time I realized my mother wished things for me, but by her restraint showed she respected that what I wanted when and if I wanted it was what was important.
In things small and large, she made it plain—not only to me but to my sister as well—that we were to be who we wanted to be. We weren’t put on this earth to live up to anyone’s expectations. She recalled a time my sister came to her with a picture she had drawn and said, “I couldn’t do it as good as Anna.” To which my mother assured her she wasn’t supposed to do it as good as Anna. She was supposed to do it as good as Muriel. When I felt unconfident or about to settle for less than what I was worth, I recalled her telling me with great vehemence, “You can scrub toilets before you kiss anybody’s ass.” She doesn’t remember saying this but I do, and I will always be grateful for the confidence those words instilled.
As a minister, I’ve helped families in which the relationship between mothers, daughters and sons was strained and far from loving. They can’t sing without reservation as I can the last line of the song I shared above but thanks to the love I have from my mom, I’ve found ways to help honor their struggles and woes.
The last line of M-O-T-H-E-R goes, “Put them all together they spell MOTHER. A word that means the world to me.” I will forever be grateful to my mother who means the world to me. For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments about someone who was a mother to you or perhaps you have mothered.
HauntedSerenade – by Anna M. Taylor
All the women in Anora Madison’s family have lived haunted by the curse of Poor Butterfly: women still longing for but deserted by the men they loved. Determined to be the first to escape a life of abandonment, Anora fled Harlem for Brooklyn, not only severing her ties with her mother Angela, but also ending her relationship with Winston Emerson, her lover and the father of her child.
Six years later, Anora comes home to make peace, but an unseen evil manifests itself during the homecoming and targets not only Anora, but her little girl Cammie.
With nowhere to run, Anora must confront the evil now trying to destroy her life. She vows to protect her daughter at all costs, but if that protection can only be found with Winston back in her life, how will Anora protect her heart?
Excerpt from Haunted Serenade…
In September 15, 1963, the one year anniversary of my aunt Diana’s death, four young girls in Birmingham, Alabama died when their church was bombed for its involvement in the Civil Rights movement.
My mother called that evening and inquired after my health and the health of my daughter Cammie – the granddaughter she vowed never to acknowledge.
Fear, anger and sorrow sounded in her voice. Mine too. We mourned those girls, their families and the sister/aunt we both loved. In that spoken grief, I silently mourned what had died between my mother and me.
The following month she called again, this time inviting me to bring Cammie to dinner. Like some sulky child, I felt tempted to ask what took her so long. Instead, I swallowed my hurt and came home.
Teamwork makes the dream work, and that’s true for my upcoming multi-author series, Athena Project. Delilah is one of my cohorts, as is Reina Torres, Jen Talty, and Regan Black. All five books release on June 21st.
Read an excerpt from my story, Beck’s Six, and then learn how you can order a signed print copy!
Beck’s Six
Rebecca “Beck” Morrissey likes her black ops work but she’s tired of government politics, as are her closest friends. She’s spent way too much time working for secret government agencies, and she is fast approaching burnout. Her option? Join Hank Patterson’s Brotherhood Protectors—if she can convince him it’s workable. The last person she expects in the meeting is Roman McClain, the man she shared both a dangerous op and incendiary sex with four years ago. And it seems that attraction is still alive and ready to explode. How will that affect them when Beck and her friends join the Brotherhood Protectors for an extended training session in Wyoming’s Wind River Mountains?
Things get even more complicated when Beck’s sister disappears, just as they learn that a radical, antigovernment group, headquartered in the Wind River Mountains, is preparing for an attack on a major target. In all likelihood, they have snatched Beck’s sister to use her as a bargaining tool. Now it’s up to Beck and her group of friends and Roman and the Brotherhood Protectors to pull off a rescue and thwart a disaster, all while she and Roman deal with an attraction that is hotter and stronger than ever.
Excerpt from Beck’s Six…
It’s a great idea. A terrific idea. He’ll jump on it right away.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
Rebecca “Beck” Morrissey kept repeating those lines to herself as she drove up the driveway of Hank Patterson’s ranch to the big ranch house that also houses the offices of Brotherhood Protectors. She had a great proposal for him that was unique and had endless possibilities. Hank had built a great organization with Brotherhood Protectors and she was sure this would only enhance it.
She recalled when Hank had left his SEAL brothers to deal with trouble at his ranch in Montana. He’d told her he never realized what would evolve from that. First SEALs, then other Special Forces, became part of a still growing group that dealt with trouble better than anyone.
Now Hank had two very successful setups going already, the original Brotherhood Protectors based in Montana and the Colorado offshoot in Fools Gold, Colorado. Team Trojan, former Green Berets out of Fort Carson who had left the service and Fort Carson on a bitter note. They had formed the basis for that setup and it was working very well. But apparently the number of extreme bad guys was growing because the entire organization was constantly busy.
And they all thrived on doing the kind of work they’d trained for, but without the politics involved.
Beck and her four friends who she pitched this idea to wanted the same thing. They were all hoping Hank would say yes to her proposal. They had all been friends for a long time and had been involved in government agency dark ops or secret projects, so they brought a lot of experience with them. But like her, they were ready for something new. Something where they had fewer restrictions and could choose their cases. When Beck reached out to them with her idea they had responded with enthusiasm.
Hank will see the benefit of it.
She kept repeating it to herself as she parked her car, walked up to the house and rang the bell.
“You made it.” Hank grinned as he opened the door. “Good. How the hell are you?”
“I’m terrific.” She squeezed him back. “And getting better.”
“Well, I sure am damn glad to see you. And anxious to hear about this hot idea you have.”
“Which I hope you will think is as exciting as I do.”
“I am open to suggestion,” he told her. “Come on down to the offices. I’ve got one of the Brotherhood Protectors down there who knows you. Thought we could use his input.”
She wondered who the hell that could be? She knew a few of the men but she didn’t think she knew any of them well enough who might be on board with her suggestion.
She followed Hank down the stairs to the offices, which took up the entire basement of the ranch house.
And stopped.
Dead still.
When she saw the man lounging against one of the desks, for one brief moment she thought her heart actually stopped beating.
Holy crap!
She hadn’t seen Roman McClain for four years and she hated the fact that her body’s reaction to him hadn’t changed a bit. One glance at him and every one of her hormones jumped up and began to dance. Heat sizzled through her and it had taken every single ounce of willpower not to let it show.
She wondered what his reaction to her proposal would be, because Roman McClain was the last person she’d expected to be a part of this.
Oh, this was so not good.
Roman, on the other hand, looked very comfortable. She wondered how long he’d been a part of BP.
“Hello, Beck.”
His deep voice still resonated through her and lit fires under her hormones.
Damn!
“Hey, Roman.” She cleared her throat. “Long time no see.”
He nodded. “Four years.”
She couldn’t stop staring at him. She thought she’d buried her feelings deep but it seemed even after all this time Roman McClain still had an incendiary effect on her.
More than six feet of well-muscled masculinity, the jawline beard he still wore accented the high cheekbones and lips that delivered scorching kisses. Kisses that she still remembered after four years. Deep blue eyes studied her from beneath thick black lashes that were the same ebony as his hair and beard. She remembered running her fingers through that thick hair. Feeling the scratch of his beard on her thighs. His—
Stop it! Get your act together.
She could be a big girl about this. He’d made no bones about their one night together. That was all it would be, a sort of celebration of the op they’d completed so successfully. Just because he’d kept his word and that one night was all they had—or were going to have— didn’t mean they couldn’t at least be civil to each other. And apparently Hank was counting on Roman’s opinion of her proposal.
“So I take it you’re out of Special Forces and are now a part of Brotherhood Protectors?” It was as much a statement as a question.
He nodded. “I am.”
“Roman’s been with us for almost two years,” Hank told her. “He’s become a key member of the organization.”
“Well, good. That’s good.”
Or maybe not.
She used every ounce of discipline to get herself under control. Her training with black ops was a big help. She’d spent four years burying the memory of her one night with Roman McClain as deep as she could. He wasn’t a man who stayed around for more. She’d known that from the beginning. But that one night together had been worth it.
“How about a cup of coffee?” Hank asked.
“Uh, sure. That would be good.” And give her something to focus on.”
Once she had taken a couple of sips of the hot liquid she drew a breath and forced an air of calm.
“Okay.” Hank’s voice broke into her thoughts. “So how about telling us what’s brought you here today.”
“Okay. Well. You know I spent the past few years working for several black ops organizations within the government.”
Hank nodded. “And from what I’ve heard, did an incredible job.” He nodded toward Roman. “Roman here told me you and he had worked an op together and it went off like clockwork. I think the words ‘consummate professional” were used, if I recall.”
“Thanks for that, Roman. It’s nice to have good advance publicity.” She took another sip of her coffee.
“Okay, Beck.” Hank waved a hand for her to tell her story. “Let’s have it. Who are these women and why would they be a good fit for Brotherhood Protectors?”
“Anyway, I have four very close friends who also worked in that environment including the CIA, the Department of Defense and others I’m not at liberty to mention. And they were—are—all damn good. The point is, we’re all suffering a bad case of burnout.”
“I can get with that,” Hank agreed, “It takes a toll and working for the government can be very frustrating.”
“Amen to that.
So.” Another sip of coffee. “Anyway. Last month we were all in Virginia, having lunch and discussing our situations. And…”
I’m Lexxie Couper. Some of you may know me or have heard of me (I’ve been around for a very long while) and some of you might be wondering who the hell I am. I’m an Aussie, a geek, a serious lover of chocolate, and a writer of romance. I write contemporary romance, paranormal romance, horror romance, sci-fi romance, romantic comedy… pretty much all kinds of romance, except historical (no way I have the research skills to write historical romance even though I love reading it). I’m also the proud owner of a rescue dog and a proud owner of a rescue cat (who pretty much rules the house).
I’m a part of a ten-author boxset called Rescued: A Collection of Contemporary Romances with Heart, Heat, and Dog Treats that’s available now for $0.99 pre-order and releases May 17th. All the books in the boxset feature rescue dogs in some way. My book in the Rescued boxset is called Who’s a Good Boy? and tells the tale of Chelsea Parker, a feisty dog trainer, and Timothy Holt, a single-dad environmentalist, and how one very special rescue dog (called Wilbur) changes everything for them. It’s a feel good, steamy rom-com that will make you smile. Promise.
This is my rescue dog, Ebony. She’s a border collie/kelpie/whippet cross. She was abused by her previous owners and now suffers from anxiety. But she is the sweetest doggo you’ll ever meet who just wants you to love her, no matter who you are. She sat at my feet or at my side as I was writing Who’s A Good Boy? and whenever the words stopped flowing I gave her a pat and she licked my hand and the words came again.
Here’s a little snippet from Who’s A Good Boy? I hope you enjoy it.
Who’s a Good Boy?
Chelsea
Timothy Holt is totally out of my league. He’s damn-near Australian royalty and I’m just a dog-trainer. There’s no chance he’d want anything to do with me, especially after I accidentally spilt juice all over him just before he’s about to go on national TV. And then the success of my business suddenly hinges on us being in a relationship. How the hell am I going to make that happen?
Tim
Romance isn’t on my agenda. Nor is dog ownership. And then Chelsea Parker slams into me. Literally. She’s a complication I don’t need, but for some reason I can’t stop thinking about her. Her smile, the way she makes me laugh, the way my body reacts to her…. I want everything about her. But what is she going to do when she discovers the truth I’m hiding from her? A truth involving a three-legged mutt called Wilbur?
Excerpt from Who’s a Good Boy?…
My hair has never been a perfect anything. God, did I even do it this morning? I try to remember. Nope, no clue.
Let’s hope the curls hide the possible absence of a brush. Maybe everyone will think I’ve just got a really expensive beach hairdo.
I clear my throat, struggling not to reach up and touch my hair. “I need to go as well,” I say, looking at the very cute, very familiar guy.
His gaze grabs mine again, and yep, he’s definitely holding it. “Sorry for getting in your road,” he says.
“Anytime.” I let my lips curl into a smile as I turn away. “Sorry for knocking you off your feet,” I finish over my shoulder.
I’m flirting. I’m actually flirting. Go me!
“Anytime,” he calls after me.
And he’s flirting with me. I think. Is he? He is, right? Oh God, why am I so bad at this?
Because you suck at dealing with humans, Chelsea. Suck, suck, suck.
His daughter waves at me, and I wave back. And grin. At him. At the delicious little butterflies-flutter his playful compliment stirs in my stomach.
Maybe I don’t suck at dealing with humans? Maybe I’m better at it than I thought. A year after being dumped by Roger—the only serious relationship I’d ever had—a year after many failed first dates and aborted Tinder interactions, I’d begun to believe I was.
But perhaps this serendipitous moment with the familiar stranger is proving Roger wrong.
Perhaps?
Okay, maybe I’m putting the cart before the horse. One little flirtatious interaction and one brief second of eye-contact does not a femme fatale make. But still, when was the last time a living creature apart from an animal has made me grin?
Because I can’t help myself, I shoot a look back over my shoulder.
He’s watching me, poised to climb into the backseat of a black Audi SUV, the older gentleman who’d asked if he was okay holding the door open for him.
Holding the door for him? What the…?
Who the hell is this guy? A celebrity of some sort? Is that why he looks familiar?
He smiles at me.
Before I know it, I smile back.
And then, with a small wave, he disappears into the backseat of the Audi.
A thick sense of loss ripples through me and I let out a sigh. “Yep. Missed opportunity right there.”
The older gentleman closes the door, pins me with a contemplative scrutiny I feel all the way to my spine, and then strides around to the driver’s door.
Lyle and the cutie-pie munchkin are nowhere to be seen. In the car already, no doubt.
I chew my bottom lip. With the possessive way Lyle kept glaring at me, it’s probably better it’s all over but the singing.
Still, damn, he was cute. The guy I knocked over. Not Lyle.
*** So…what did you think?
I really enjoyed writing Who’s a Good Boy? Maybe in part because I loved writing about not only people falling in love with each other (and boy, do Tim and Chelsea fall hard), but also people falling in love with rescue dogs (Tim never planned to have a dog, and then Wilbur entered his life). I grew up believing every home should have a dog and every dog should have a home. Now, for no other reason than why not, here’s a photo of Chris Hemsworth and his dog. 🙂
***A Little Lexxie Contest***
To go into the running to win two eBooks from my backlist of the winners choice and a signed Lexxie Couper print book, leave a comment here on my guest blog post here on Delilah’s blog between now and May 20. 🙂 Tell me what you thought of the snippet, tell me about your pet, tell me about your breakfast, tell me something you know about Australia. 🙂 Tell me anything, or even just say g’day.
And don’t forget to pre-order Rescued for only $0.99!
I debated what to write about for today’s blog post. Nothing felt quite right, but that could be because my face still hurts from the dental work I just had done. When I realized Mother’s Day was coming up, I figured I should tell you about my single mom romance story.
Somewhere to Belong is a cute but steamy romance that ties off my Unexpected Changes series. No, you don’t have to read the other three books to read this one. Each story can be read as a standalone book.
It opens with a hot one-night stand. The characters walk away knowing they’ll never see each other again but are haunted by memories of that night, ones they’d like to repeat. Of course, they get thrust back together when Kevin is assigned as her new realtor.
Lillian, a widow, is raising two young children. Cole, age seven, is one of those super cool kids who gets bullied because he’s different. He loves reading and books and wishes he could be homeschooled. Mackenzie is a sassy, red-headed, kindergartener who isn’t big on rules. Together, they keep Lillian on her toes.
Kevin has sworn off love after one too many heartbreaks. He’s a big softy, a cinnamon roll, a hero, who falls further and further in love with Lillian’s small family.
Trouble comes during their house hunt. Lillian vetoes every house that comes up in her price range, and Kevin begins to suspect she isn’t being honest with him when it comes to what she really wants in a home. Trying to get her to trust him is a greater challenge than he expects.
A lot of the scenes involving Cole really stuck with me. He is such a sweet kid that gets bullied and picked on. I love how he grows and develops in the story and how he has such a profound effect on both Lillian and Kevin.
Somewhere to Belong is available in eBook and paperback. You can visit my website for a longer excerpt and to learn more.
Excerpt from Somewhere to Belong:
“God, girl, was there a Magic Mike convention at your work today?”
Confused she asked, “What?”
He chuckled. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”
“You.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and backed him toward the bed. His calves hit the mattress and he dropped. Wasting no time, Lillian straddled him. “You took care of my kids all day and then fixed the sink. Seriously, doing work around the house is such a turn on.”
“Good to know.”
“Uh huh.” She tugged at his shirt. “Now shut up and strip.”
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What do you do when your ex’s werewolf boss wants to feast on the mortal you’ve sworn to protect?
Quinn was unaware of the love potion her meddling cat dumped into her tea, so when Ian Hannigan ends up injured on her property, she thinks she’s dealing with another mortal, not the man who can help mend her heart. Her life becomes a balancing act as she attempts to keep him safe while hiding secrets better left buried with the dead.
In a realm filled with things that go bump in the night, Ian didn’t expect to find security and happiness in the arms of a green-skinned witch, yet for the first time since his parents’ tragic car crash, he’s found some measure of peace. The rumors he hears in Clayridge aren’t pleasant, but Ian knows there’s more to Quinn than what people would have him believe. If he’s placed his trust in the wrong hands, he’ll be paying with more than just his heart. He’ll pay with his life.
