UPDATE The winner is…Kerry Jo!
*~*~*

Alice was born in 1875 in New Orleans, Louisiana. Her mother was a former slave, and her father was White. She wrote, taught and/or lectured everywhere she lived: Louisiana, New York, Massachusetts, Washington D.C., Delaware, and Pennsylvania. She received her education from Straight University in Louisiana and Cornell University in New York. After graduating from Straight in 1892, she began teaching in the New Orleans public schools.

Her teaching career included working at the White Rose Mission in Manhattan and co-founding a reform school for girls in Delaware. Her later activism led to her being removed from her teaching position at Wilmington Delaware’s Howard High school in 1920.

In 1895 her first anthology, Violets and Other Tales was published by The Boston Monthly Review. A poem she wrote in the Review brought her to Paul Lawrence Dunbar’s attention. Several resources cite their romance as being the African American equivalent of Robert Browning’s and Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s courtship. However, disagreements on how to handle race in their writing and her same gender loving relationships with women shows me their relationship wasn’t always idyllic. Dunbar became increasingly physically and emotionally abusive. She separated from him in 1902 and was still married to him when he died in 1906. During their marriage she published her next piece, The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories in 1899.

 Besides poetry she wrote articles on race relations, the limitations placed on working women, civil rights and suffrage in magazines, church related publications, academic journals and newspapers. These were topics on which she lectured as well. In 1914, she published Masterpieces of Negro Eloquence, which contained speeches made by men and women of African descent born in the US, Europe and Africa. From 1926 to 1930 she wrote a column for the Washington Eagle. She also kept a diary addressing the issues of her day. She wrote prolifically despite encountering lots of rejection because she addressed oppression and racism in her writing.

She married two more times. The second to a fellow teacher which ended in a friendly divorce. The last to Robert J. Nelson in 1916, a poet and activist to whom she remained married until her death and with whom she was active in politics, campaigning for anti-lynching laws. Like many African Americans of her day, she was a republican but not a chauvinistic one. When the republican senator from Delaware refused to vote for an anti-lunching bill, Alice campaigned and got twelve thousand new voters registered, leading to the senator’s losing reelection.

Alice died in Philadelphia in 1935 due to a heart condition at the age of 60. Having learned all this about her, I will think of her as a poet, critic, journalist, and activist who also happened to marry a famous poet. I hope that’s how you’ll think of her too.

A Portrait of Alice Dunbar

For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share your impressions of Alice in the comments.

“Take Me To The Water” by Michal Scott

So, maybe medieval paranormal isn’t your thing. How about erotic romance? An alpha male? A woman in captivity? Secrets kept? Do those tropes appeal? Then this novella will be one you’ll want to gobble up!

After awakening in a castle, bound and at the mercy of her captor, Voletta has every reason to fear the mysterious man holding her in his arms. Instead, his brooding presence intrigues her, and his hard body excites her. However attracted she is, she must escape before he discovers her dark secret…but then she learns he has one of his own.

Order your copy now!

Opening scene of The Demon Lord’s Cloak…

“We’ll all be dead by morning.” Martin’s voice quavered as he emptied another glass of Frau Sophie’s precious peach schnapps.

“Who’d have guessed it’d be nigh on impossible to find a virgin in this valley?” his companion said.

“Pah! Even my own daughter,” Martin moaned. “What’s the world coming to, Edgard? Young women giving themselves like barmaids…”

Edgard’s shoulders slumped. “I tell you it was the last May Day celebration. The bürgermeister should never have let Sophie provide the drink.”

“We should have locked every last one of the unmarried maidens in a cellar.”

“Well, no use grousing.” Martin set down his glass. “We have a problem. Now’s the time for clear thinking.”

“There’s no solution. The village will disappear, swallowed by Hell itself when we fail to provide his bride.” Edgard’s reddened eyes widened. “Couldn’t we mount a raid on Fulkenstein down the valley…take a girl or two…”

“There’s no time left. We only had the new moon to give that devil his due. It ends tomorrow night. We’d never be back in time.”

Edgard shook his head, sighing. “We’ve failed. Daemonberg will be no more. Best get the women packing tonight so we can flee come morning. A thousand years of prosperity and health–gone for the lack of a single maidenhead.”

“We’re doomed, I tell you.” Martin lifted the schnapps bottle and tilted it over his glass. He gave it a shake, and then slammed it down on the table. Turning toward the bar, he shouted, “Sophie, liebchen, bring us another bottle, will you?”

As he turned back to his friend, he saw a woman step through the doorway of the inn. Her beauty arrested him–far prettier than any of the strapping blonde women of the village, this one was slender, delicate, with deep reddish hair that glinted like fire in the torchlight, rather like the bay he’d bid on and lost at an auction in early spring.

He elbowed Edgard beside him. “Look there.”

Both men turned to stare at the young woman entering.

“Where’s her escort?” Edgard whispered.

“She looks wary. I’d wager she’s on her own.”

They shared a charged glance, shoulders straightening.

“What do you suppose the chances are she’s a virgin?” Edgard asked softly.

“She’s beyond fair. What man would care whether he was her first just so long as he’s her last? Besides, what other options have we?”

Sophie slammed another bottle in the center of the table and gave them a scathing glance. “If you go home to your wives legless with drink, I’ll not take the blame.”

“We’ll have just one more glass,” Martin assured her, reaching around to pat her rump. “For the road. We’ve business to attend.”

Sophie rolled her eyes and turned, her ample hips rolling as she walked across the room to greet the young woman who waved her away.

“If they only knew the solemn duty we perform,” Martin whispered. “They’d call us heroes.”

Only they could never tell a soul. That too was part of their sacred oath, handed down from father to son.

Edgard poured them both another drink, then lifted his glass. “To another hundred years of peace and wealth.”

Martin lifted his glass with one hand and crossed himself with the other. “To the fair maiden with the red hair—God rest her soul.”

UPDATE: The winners are…Debra Guyette & Mary McCoy!
*~*~*

Hello, everyone! First, a huge thank you to Delilah for letting me join in the fun. I’ve been following this blog for a while and finally found my motivation to write about my experience.

When I set out to write my first novel almost a decade ago, I figured it would take all my efforts just to write a Regency romance that balanced the more erotic components I wanted with a full-fledged romantic arc.

However, my brain would not let me stop there. As a modern woman who’d had a thirty-year career in corporate America, I kept wanting the women to have more power.

So entered the idea of a secret school for young women that would teach them everything from household and money management to owning their own pleasure, and thus, the School of Enlightenment series was created.

But what Regency men would love these women? Imagining that they’d also need to be ahead of their time, I dove into Parliamentary laws and scientific developments. My contemporary perspective drove me to focus on those that impacted women, children, and the working class.

Here are a few significant events I mention in my books:

• Corn Laws – In an effort to combat imported grains competition to British farms, The Corn Laws were passed in 1814. These helped only the landowners of the farms, not the agricultural laborers, and caused more extreme poverty for the working class.
• Insolvent Debtors Act of 1813 – This was the first step in Poor Law reform, relieving the overcrowded prisons by releasing debtors if they could reach an agreement with their creditor regarding the distribution of present and future assets. There were further reforms proposed and a few passed, although greater reform did not come until the Poor Law Amendment Act of 1834, which standardized the treatment of debtors and the use of workhouses. Prior to that it had been up to the parishes throughout Britain and varied widely.
• Macadam roads – Principal routes were dirt until the first few years of the 19^th century when John McAdam’s innovative ‘paving’ was implemented. This was the precursor of what we consider ‘chip and seal’ and saved many horses and carriages from accidents due to poor road conditions in bad weather.
• Steam engines – Steam engines had begun development centuries ago, but in the early 19^th century they became more viable for commercial use – in factories, boats, and locomotives.
• Salamanca – The first commercial steam locomotive, which ran between Middleton and Leeds.
• Robert Owen – Welsh textile manufacturer who was a philanthropist and founder of utopian socialism and the co-operative movement. Even as a factory owner, he led reforms in working conditions, child labor, and life-long education. He was famous for the slogan, “eight hours labour, eight hours recreation, eight hours rest,” and helped get the Cotton Mills and Factories Act of 1819 passed.

After my school-focused series, I continued to search for ways to write women’s independence. In my most recent book, Charlotte’s Control, the widow Charlotte has a knack for investing and does not need to worry about money, but she hungers for the educational opportunities afforded to men in secondary school and university. Most classes were taught in Latin, so she wants to learn that. William, an Oxford student, helps teach her using ancient poets:

• Catullus – (full name Gaius Valerius Catullus Carmina) who wrote sexually explicit (for Roman times) poetry and was a contemporary of Virgil.
• Ovid – The Heroides (Epistulae Heroidum) and Ars amatoria.
• Homer – The Odyssey, both the Pope translation and the Chapman translation, as well as Keats’ poem about the latter.
• Chaucer – Canterbury Tales, from which I drew snippets particularly about the Squire, the Prioress, the Knight, the Reeve, and reference a debate between William and Charlotte over the Wife of Bath.

For giggles, I also created this as an older woman/younger man age gap romance with a bit of femdomme sprinkled in.

Charlotte’s Control

A young rake soon to inherit an impoverished estate…a lonely widow unable to produce an heir…a love they must forsake.

Widowed at thirty, Charlotte, Dowager Countess of Peterborough, finds herself on the lonely edge of Society, caught between the young chits vying for a husband and older matrons. In a moment of vulnerability, she meets a young rake who tempts her to forget propriety and reclaim her feminine powers of seduction…for a while. Their affair can only last until he marries a wealthy debutante who can give him what Charlotte cannot. An heir.

In his final year at Oxford, William Stanton, heir to the Earl of Harrington, is forced to manage the earldom for his drunken father and provide for his family. With the prospect of an advantageous marriage looming in his future, he yearns for the frivolity of his peers. But when he encounters a lovely widow, he’s drawn to her keen mind as much as he is to her beauty. She believes they are destined to part. To keep her, he must battle Fate, time, and the rules of Society that conspire against them.

Get your copy here!

Contest

To win your choice of one of my ebooks, tell me your favorite older woman / younger man romance or your favorite femdomme romance. (Also a sneaky way for me to find new fun books.) Giveaway will be open for one week from the date of posting.

For more about Maggie, visit:
Website: https://maggiesims.com
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4092694.Maggie_Sims
TikTok (sometimes): https://www.tiktok.com/@maggiesims.author

UPDATE: The winner is…Jennifer Beyer!
*~*~*

Come up with the correct question to this Jeopardy answer: In 1928, she was appointed chairwoman by Herbert Hoover to head a committee charged with fact finding on the issue of Negro housing. Correct question: Who is Nannie Helen Burroughs? Nannie Helen Burroughs lived when the Republican party was still the Grand Old Party of Lincoln and when being a Black republican wasn’t an oxymoron.

Nannie was born on May 2, 1879, in Orange, Virginia, to freeborn parents. Their enslaved father used his carpentry skills to buy his freedom. Nannie’s father was a minister and her mother a cook. They instilled in her the core value of uplifting the race in everything she did. It’s no surprise that she chose, “We specialize in the wholly impossible” for the motto of the school she would establish.

Active in her denomination, Nannie served as bookkeeper and secretary of the Foreign Mission Board of the National Baptist Convention. In 1900, her speech, “How the Sisters Are Hindered From Helping,” led to the founding of the Women’s Convention in 1900. She served as president until 1913 and continued working with them until 1947.

While studying at Eckstein-Norton University in Louisville, Kentucky, she created a club for women which provided bookkeeping, sewing, cooking, and typing classes in the evening. Societal opposition to educating women beyond being homemakers only inflamed Nannie’s activism. In 1909 at age twenty-six, she opened the National Training School for Women and Girls in Washington D.C. The school provided classes in shoe repair, barbering, and gardening in addition to domestic science and secretarial skills. In 1918, a Seattle magazine article showed the school also offered millinery classes and agricultural training. To graduate, everyone had to take the course Nannie created on the contributions of African Americans to history.

She worked for suffrage with my September 2024 D.D. blogpost subject Mary Church Terrell and advocated for the unionization of domestic workers. Nannie’s work with the National Association of Colored Women led to the founding of the National Association of Wage Earners.

She never married and worked tirelessly on her causes. But don’t picture her as a workaholic activist. In the 1920s, Nannie wrote two popular one-act plays for church groups, which continued to be produced through the decades. Her comedic satire The Slabtown District Convention enjoyed a revival in 2001.

A biography of Nannie was included in the children’s book Women Builders in 1931. The work was illustrated by my D.D. October 2023 and February 2024 post subject, Hallie Q. Brown.

Nannie died in 1961. Three years after her death, her school was renamed for her. Trades Hall, its original building, was designated a national historic landmark in 1991. A prolific writer and editor, the Library of Congress holds 110,000 of her papers in its Manuscript Division.

Once again, the dedication and determination of women like Nannie Helen Burroughs leaves me awestruck. For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share your impression of Nannie and women like her in the comments.

Her Heavenly Phantom
by Michal Scott

Forced into a marriage of convenience neither wants, a mild-mannered banker with an intriguing secret discovers his reluctant bride has a secret, too.

Excerpt from “Her Heavenly Phantom” inside Secret Identities…

The carriage driver’s whoa brought him back to the present. Twelve noon and the sun shone brightly. Too brightly for noon on Good Friday. At that hour the sky had begun to darken and the veil of the temple had ripped in twain as Jesus died for our sins on a cross between two thieves.

Harold stepped to the sidewalk and offered his hand to Emily. She took it without a word then preceded him up the steps to their new home.

“I’ll be late at the bank, preparing for my trip to Philadelphia,” he said. “You weren’t expecting me for dinner, were you?”

“No.” She pulled off her gloves and laid them beside her hat on the hall table. “Will you want something upon your return?”

“Don’t bother. I won’t be hungry.”

“Very well. I’ll leave a note for cook with tomorrow’s menus.” She went up the stairs. Her bustleless walking skirt outlined a shapely rear. She swayed with each step as if in time to some erotic metronome. Harold blenched and concealed his cock’s sudden twitch behind his top hat.

“I’ll make sure to leave a door open,” she said. “So, you’ll know which bedroom is yours.”

That suited him fine. He’d want no witness to him losing himself in the rapture induced by his lady of the balcony.

Buylinks:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DBJ47ND6/
B&N https://shorturl.at/B0NLA
KOBO: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/secret-identities-8

UPDATE: The winner is…Mary Preston!
*~*~*

Mary Eliza Church was born September 23, 1863, to a family of the Memphis, Tennessee, Black elite. Her father, Robert Reed Church, one of the first African American millionaires, made his fortune in real estate. Her mother, Louisa Ayres, was entrepreneurial too, running a beauty salon. Former slaves, Mary’s parents never let society tell them what they could do. Neither did their daughter. Mary chose the four-year gentlemen’s course at Oberlin College and became one of the first African American women to earn a Bachelor of Arts in 1884 and then a Master’s degree in 1888 as did Anna Julia Cooper (whom I blogged about here on April 27, 2022) with whom she remained lifelong comrades in the struggle for women’s rights and racial justice.

After graduating from Oberlin, Mary taught at Wilberforce University for two years before moving to Washington, D.C., to teach Latin. There, she married Robert Terrell in 1891. They had five children. Becoming married forced her to leave her teaching job, but she heeded the advice of Frederick Douglass to remain active in the fight for African American equality.

She was instrumental in founding several civic clubs and national associations dedicated to uplifting the race: the Colored Women’s League (CWL) in 1892, the National Association of Colored Women (NACW) in 1896, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) in 1909, the College Alumnae Club (now the National Association of University Women) in 1910, and the Delta Sigma Theta sorority in 1913-1914.

As an educator, she championed education as the way up and out of the double-yoke oppression of being African American and a woman. Through the CWL in Washington D.C., she started a training program and a kindergarten before any were started in the public school system. She continued this work by founding daycares and kindergartens through the NACW. As a journalist, she wrote articles exposing the lies of lynching, just like Ida B Wells Barnett, with whom she worked. Both women had close friends who were lynched because their businesses were successful. As a suffragist, she challenged white women to recognize the vote was not the be-all and end-all for African American women. As a boots-on-the-ground activist, she fought segregation and racism through boycotts, sit-ins, picketing, and lawsuits. In 1950, aged 87, she sued a Washington D.C. restaurant for refusing her service due to her race. The Supreme Court ruled in her favor in 1953.

Whenever the doom and gloom of today’s naysayers stink up the air, I turn aside and inhale the rich odors of the history left behind by Mary Eliza Church Terrell. Until her dying day, July 24, 1954, at age 90, she lived the motto of the NACW, “Lifting as we climb.” Here’s a PBS’ Unladylike 2020 video about Mary: https://www.pbs.org/video/she-was-civil-rights-activist-and-co-founder-naacp-q3ypkj/

For a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share what you find inspiring about Mary or some woman you’ve learned about who inspires you to lift while you climb.

“Her Heavenly Phantom” by Michal Scott
Secret Identities: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology

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Forced into a marriage of convenience neither wants, a mild-mannered banker with an intriguing secret discovers his reluctant bride has a secret, too.

Excerpt from “Her Heavenly Phantom”…

“Thought your bride might accompany you tonight.”

Harold adjusted the folds of black silk attached to the brim of his hat. “Don’t be ridiculous. She knows nothing about my secret life on the stage.”

“How do you plan to keep her in the dark? Won’t she be concerned where you go at night?”

“My marriage of convenience is just that. She doesn’t want to know anything about me. I want to know as little about her.” He adjusted the fit of the face mask that covered all of his face above his nose. “What’s my itinerary?”

“You’ll have off until Easter then you head for a three-week engagement in Philadelphia then to upstate New York for another three weeks in Buffalo before returning for your farewell engagement here.” Michael shook his head. “Pity you had to marry. I will sorely miss our lucrative partnership.”

Harold scanned his dressing room table. “Speaking of missing.”

“You won’t find a letter tonight,” Michael said.

A pang throbbed in Harold’s chest. Where was the air in this damned room? “What do you mean?”

“Your lady of the balcony only just arrived at intermission. Maybe she’ll leave you one when you return.” Michael closed the calendar and stood. “I wonder why she lurks behind that Mardi Gras mask of hers.”

“The manager of The Phantom doesn’t understand that his client isn’t the only one who needs to hide his identity from the outside world?”

Report Card

Last week…

1. Last week was Chemo Week, beginning with the infusions on Monday. It hit me hard midweek, lingering through Saturday. All the usual symptoms: chemo flush, muscle and joint aches, difficulty sleeping, overall weakness, etc. Very uncomfortable. However, this time, depression did not set in. I medicated as minimally as I could and waited it out, working in short spurts in the mornings before throwing in the towel to rest. I feel like I napped the week away, which is a strategy, I guess.
2. Once Upon a Legend, my Western novella, released this week! I hope you all picked up a copy!
3. I worked on edits for one author and completed them.
4. My daughter, the girls, and my SIL continue to be the best support I could ask for. They wait on me hand and foot when I need it, and encourage me to move when I need that nudge. I really am very, very lucky to have them.

This next week…

1. This week I only have to see my chemo clinic team once for a blood draw and a white blood cell booster shot. Yay!
2. I have to wrap up Ignition. It’s the fourth and last book in the Delta Fire series. I moved the release date to October 1st. I hope I’ll have the energy to create, otherwise, I’ll have to cancel the release. It’s just two, maybe three chapters, but that feels like too much right now.
3. I’m working on an editing project for one author this week.

Open Contests

Be sure to check out these posts and enter to win the prizes that are still up for grabs!

1. Tell me a story: Sweet dreams are made of these… (Contest) — This one ends soon! Win an Amazon gift card!
2. Report Card, Open Contests, and a Puzzle Contest! — This one ends soon! Win an Amazon gift card!
3. Gabbi Grey: The Paranormal Story I’ve Always Wanted to Tell (Contest) — This one ends soon! Win an Amazon gift card!
4. Just a quick update and a Word Puzzle! (Contest) — Win an Amazon gift card!
5. Saturday Puzzle-Contest: Are you ready for hot cocoa season? — Win an Amazon gift card!

A long, long time ago, I published a novella inside an anthology called Wild, Wild Women of the West II with Kensington Publishing. Well, I have the rights back to that story, so I’m offering it here, knowing that likely very few of you have ever read it! It’s fun and sexy. Very sexy, so be warned. Prudence is my favorite kind of heroine—too smart and curious for her own good. He’s my favorite kind of hero—brave and bemused when he meets the heroine. I think you’ll enjoy it! Happy reading! ~DD

When budding dime novelist Prudence Vogel travels west to meet legendary lawman Jake White Eagle, she discovers he really is the tall, handsome hero of her novel. Flustered and out of her element, Prudence is determined to shadow the handsome sheriff to lend authenticity to her next story.

While Jake certainly finds Prudence attractive, her constant presence is distracting. When things she has written seem to be coming true, he decides to get closer to see whether she’s involved in the criminal activities her story has foreseen.

Order your copy here!

Excerpt from Once Upon a Legend…

Serendipity, Montana 1883

Prudence Vogel didn’t want to miss a thing.

She wet the tip of a sharpened pencil on her tongue and steadied a writing tablet on her lap, ready to capture the last moments of her journey. But, as was her nature, her mind wandered, and instead, she began to write the adventure playing out in her imagination.

Katarina’s nose wrinkled at the smell of stale beer and dust as she slipped behind the saloon and peered into the darkened room—

The stagecoach jolted as a wheel slipped into another deep rut on the rough trail, sending her pencil scraping off the edge of the pad.

She sighed, resigned she’d have to commit the final moments of her journey to memory and pick up her heroine’s adventure after she arrived at her destination.

She slid her tablet into the pocket of her valise behind her dog-eared copy of The Adventures of Katarina, her latest, well only, publishing credit. She’d kept the novel in clear view in hopes of drawing a comment to give herself an opportunity to sell one of the many copies she’d brought with her.

Not the dog-eared copy—that one contained penciled notes of the details she’d gotten wrong. For that was the purpose of this journey. Prudence Vogel had never traveled outside the city of Chicago, yet her first novelistic experience was an adventure tale set in the wild frontier, featuring a tall, handsome hero she’d only fantasized about. She needed to know whether she’d been wrong.

For all she knew, the real Jake White Eagle was a short, squat man who could suck his whiskey through the space where his front teeth ought to be. She’d braced herself the entire journey for disappointment because she’d built such high hopes he’d be the hero she’d envisioned—the kind of man a real “Katarina” would admire.

Tales of his wild youth, his talent with a gun, and his time spent scouting with Wild Bill Cody for the 5^th Cavalry had fired her imagination since she’d come across the first mention of his name in the Chicago Tribune.

After that she’d scoured every newspaper she could get her hands on, searching for a description of the man and his exploits.

Physical descriptions had been hard to come by—“burnished skin” and “the deadly stare of the black-eyed Indian” hadn’t told her whether his jaw was square or rounded, or his nose was a sculpted blade or broad and bumpy. And it would have been helpful to know whether Katarina would have to lift her patrician chin to kiss his lips. Since she’d lacked definitive answers to her questions, in her mind she’d created an image of the man she wanted him to be.

However, news of his dangerous exploits had been much easier to find. The man had earned quite a reputation as a gunslinger as he’d roamed the western territories. Then for some reason, last year, he’d settled in Serendipity, Montana. Not Deadwood or any number of more recognizable wild, western towns, but an unknown place with a whimsical name.

In her research, she’d missed the reason for his inexplicable move. Now, she wanted the truth for the sequel to her book, and detailed descriptions to bring her wild west adventures to life.

Prudence pulled back the curtain to take a look outside, blinking against a cloud of dirt stirred up by the stage’s team of horses.

Bright sunlight dispelled the gloom in the interior of the stagecoach. Everywhere around them endless blue sky filled the view. The golden tips of the prairie grass rimming the trail waved in a slight breeze. Cottonwood trees swayed in the distance.

“Close that curtain! You’re lettin’ in the dust.”

As if we aren’t already wearing a coat of gritty trail dirt? Prudence bit her tongue against the retort. Ever since Mrs. Waters had boarded the stage in Helena, she’d offered a contrary comment to every one of Prudence’s actions.

Prudence firmed her lips into a polite smile and turned to the stout woman sitting on the opposite seat. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what’s happening outside this coach?”

Mrs. Waters snorted. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

Prudence lifted her brows, which sent her spectacles sliding down her nose. The woman had repeated the same tired old cliché as Mrs. Lake in the opening scene of her dime novel.

Just like the character of Mrs. Lake, the woman had a cliché for every occasion and nary an original thought.

Another coincidence! An odd prickling raised the fine hairs at Prudence’s nape.

While some of the less important details—the flora the fauna and the ruggedness of the trail—had mostly been wrong, the events in her story had been strikingly similar. The string of similarities between Katarina’s adventure and her own true life adventure had at first amused Prudence who’d been convinced she’d simply done her research and was an apt pupil of human nature.

But this time, the words were repeated as though they’d been scripted in advance.

As well, the more Prudence thought about it, Mrs. Waters was an exact physical replica of the irascible woman who’d complained throughout that first scene of her adventure novel.

Even Mr. Stanton who slept beside her resembled the handsome debauched gambler who’d managed to snore throughout the last leg of the fictional journey despite the bone-rattling thuds of the lumbering stagecoach.

The one jarring detail that didn’t match her story was the character of the heroine. Prudence was a far cry from the beautiful and spirited “Katarina.” Sadly, she wasn’t brunette, or possessed of a pure, porcelain complexion and soft, curvaceous figure. Her own hair was a muddy blonde, her nose sprinkled with an unfortunate quantity of mud-colored freckles, and her figure was as straight as a boy’s. Worse, she wasn’t the least bit adventurous.

Still, if the story was somehow unfolding…

A loud banging sounded from the top of the coach. “Folks, we’re comin’ up on Serendipity,” came the call from the driver.

Mrs. Waters patted her hair while Mr. Stanton snuffled and opened bloodshot eyes as he retied his string tie.

Surreptitiously, Prudence reached for the edge of the window casing and held on tight…just in case…

Shots rang out, the coach jerked forward and back, then shrill whinnies filled the air as the team lurched again and shot forward, sending a screaming Mrs. Waters headfirst into Mr. Stanton’s lap.

Prudence suppressed a squeal of fright and held on. Then just as quickly, she relaxed, suddenly unafraid, because she knew how this would end.

A hero rode to their rescue.

Sure enough, shouts sounded outside—from the driver and another man whose horse ate up the distance between them in a staccato flurry of sharp hooves.

Gradually, the team slowed, snorts and frightened whinnies settling like the dust sifting underneath the flapping leather curtains, until at last the stagecoach came to a stop.

Just like in her story.

Only Prudence didn’t wait for their rescuer to fling open the door. She stood and grasped the door handle, nervous but determined to see if the object of her obsession was indeed on the other side.

The door gave way unexpectedly, bringing her along with it, and she toppled out of the coach and straight into the arms of a very tall man. Thick, strong muscles surrounded her as he swept her off her feet and held her close to his solid chest.

Startled, Prudence glanced up, but his rasping breath fogged the lenses of her spectacles, and she groaned.

Why, oh why hadn’t she put them away? Better to be blinking at the man than looking like a startled, befuddled mouse. Around the rims of her glasses, she noted the breadth of his wide shoulders and the dark shadow from the hat shading his face.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” His voice was a deep, raspy bass that seemed to wrap around her like a raw caress.

“Jake?” she whispered, more sure of his identity than she’d ever been of anything in her life. She knew his voice—had heard it speaking in her imagination.

Naturally, he smelled of sage and soap. She’d written that as well.

“Do I know you?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

A wide, tremulous smile stretched her lips, and she slowly wound her arms around his shoulders. “No, but I know you, sir,” she said, too excited to give more than a passing thought to her forward behavior.

His head tilted as though he was scrutinizing her. “She bump her head?” He directed the question to the people stepping from the coach.

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Waters said, her voice trembling and affronted at the same time. “But she’s a very strange young woman.”