LINDA WEAVER CLARKE'S INSPIRATION

Please welcome author Linda Weaver Clarke to the blog today, sharing her inspiration for her latest novel DESERT INTRIGUE. Good news for readers, Linda is giving away an ebook download to one lucky person who leaves a comment today. The only thing better than a book is a FREE book! Please leave your email address if you want to be included in the drawing for her book.Linda likes some of the same archeology, myths, and history that my Hero and I enjoy, so I'm eager to share her post with you.

The Mystery Behind Superstition Mountain is Inspiration for New Mystery/Adventure Novel, DESERT INTRIGUE

This story takes place in Mesa, Arizona. I was intrigued by the stories of Superstition Mountain, Weaver’s Needle, the sacred gold, the great Thunder God, the Lost Dutchman Mine and the Dutchman himself. I wondered why no one ever found the goldmine after all these years. Does it still exist and does the great Thunder God protect it? Haha. I learned that the stories surrounding Superstition Mountain were actually true, taken from Arizona history, including the mysterious and unexplained deaths of the men who searched for the gold.

With a blend of mystery, adventure, humor, and sweet romance, I created a story based upon the adventures of a married couple and their three daughters in DESERT INTRIGUE. Ruth Hill, My Devotional Thoughts, wrote: “This book can be read safely by anyone, and the romance scenes are absolutely delectable! The mystery in the book is probably the best I have seen from Linda Weaver Clarke. She gave subtle details, but even I did not have it all figured out by the end.”

I loved her review. When Julia’s brother announces that his dude ranch is haunted, she believes that someone is trying to sabotage his place and force him to sell. The mysterious happenings have to do with Superstition Mountain, the lost Dutchman’s goldmine, and the great Thunder God. Is it possible that the legend of the Thunder God is actually true? After a terrible thunderstorm, everyone begins to wonder. John and Julia quickly head to Mesa, Arizona and discover a few mysterious events. Will they find out who is behind these disasters before Uncle Kelly’s dude ranch is ruined?

Steve Miller, Best Selling Author, called it “a Satisfying, Intriguing Story!” He wrote: “It was difficult to put this one down. I cared about the characters, I cared about their ranch, and I was brainstorming right along with this delightful family, figuring out how to either remove the curse or solve the mystery that threatened to destroy their way of life. But as with life as I’ve experienced it, it’s never just saving the ranch. There are children flirting with romance, relational complexities, and a wedding in the works that just won’t seem to come together. The writing is clear and lively. The touches of humor and inclusion of regional history tie it all together to make a satisfying story all the more fascinating. Highly recommended!”

Even though this is the fourth book in this mystery series, each book has its own plot and can be read alone. Susan Ortlieb, a reviewer for Suko’s Notebook, has read every book in this series. She wrote, “Desert Intrigue is an entertaining and joyful book, my favorite in this mystery series by Linda Weaver Clarke, which I think would make an excellent TV mini series.  I love the sparks of romance in this adventure--they spice things up and add much interest to the story.  The book has a handful of surprises that I did not anticipate, and the mystery fuels much of the action.” For more information, visit www.lindaweaverclarke.com.

Book Trailer:

About the Author
Linda Weaver Clarke travels throughout the United States, teaching a “Family Legacy Workshop,” encouraging others to write their family history and autobiography. Clarke is the author of the historical romance series, “A Family Saga in Bear Lake, Idaho,” and a mystery series, “The Adventures of John and Julia Evans,” which includes ANASAZI INTRIGUE, MAYAN INTRIGUE, MONTEZUMA INTRIGUE, and DESERT INTRIGUE.

Thanks to Linda for visiting today, and thank you for stopping by!

MY BOOK'S ON FIRE! NO, THE LOCALE IS...

One of my favorite of my books is a time travel featuring a clairvoyant heroine from 1845 who jumps off an Irish cliff to escape an angry mob...and lands in 2010 Texas in Possum Kingdom Lake. Because she lands at the formations known locally as Hell's Gate, at first she thinks she's in Purgatory.

I love this area of Texas. It's mountains are hills compared to Colorado, the climate is hot as you-know-where in summer, and summer is about 9 months of the year. Right now, the area has a terrible range fire. At the time I'm writing this, no homes have burned. It must be frightening to those who live there to be in such danger! Last summer's fires near the same area destroyed numerous homes and cost the lives of many animals.

From the time whites entered this region in the mid 1800's. this has been the home of large ranches along the Brazos River. In the mid 1900's, the Brazos River was dammed to form Possum Kingdom Lake, Lake Granbury, and Lake Whitney. The lakes are wonderful, but they are there at a cost to those who love the river.

The Brazos River 

But that's not the point of this essay. The rights to the aforementioned book, OUT OF THE BLUE, have now reverted to me and I have republished them in print and ebook for your reading pleasure. At least, I hope reading this book will be a pleasure. It is my husband's favorite of my boosk, with THE TEXAN'S IRISH BRIDE running a close second. Need I tell you my husband loves anything to do with Ireland or the Irish?

Here's the new cover, courtesy of my husband and iStock. My husband took the photo of the Hell's Gate cliffs and transposed the model over the photo.

I hope you agree he did a nice job. I'm very pleased with the way the cover turned out. A photo of the hero is on the back with the blurb:

Detective Brendan Hunter, the hero

The hero shown above is a clever, cynical man who doesn't believe in clairvoyant visions or time travel He thinks Deirdre is somehow involved with the men who killed his partner and injured Brendan so badly that he's still on medical leave.

Blossom Hunter and Dave Roan

Blossom Hunter is a hippie throwback who owns a health food store. She has become involved with a neighbor, Dr. Dave Roan. In spite of being a man of science, Dave is more open-minded than Brendan. Blossom is a lovely, generous woman who helps those less fortunate. The problem is that--although her son is a police detective--Blossom is not that concerned with following those tiresome parts of the laws.

Here's a blurb:

Deirdre Dougherty never cursed at anyone, much less put a curse on the potato crop of her remote Irish village. She’d rather take her chances with the Atlantic lapping at the bottom of the cliff than the mob intent on burning her as they have her cottage. Deirdre leaps . . . and plops down over 160 years later in a Texas lake. She doesn’t understand how she’s ended up with the man from her recent visions or why he has the same name as the saint to whom she prayed. She’s in danger of falling for the handsome policeman who rescued her, in spite of the fact that he thinks she’s lying to him. How can she convince him her story is true when she’s finding it difficult to believe the tale herself?

Police Detective Brendan Hunter wants answers. Who shot him and killed his partner? Why? And why does Deirdre know details of the event? Her story has to be a colossal fabrication or else she’s a beautiful psycho. Either way, he wants her gone before he becomes even more fascinated with her. But he can’t let her out of his sight until she confesses to how she learned details no one but he and his late partner knew.

And here's an excerpt from when two of the villain's henchmen try to kidnap Deirdre:

Blossom gave Deirdre the mail. “Do you mind, dear? I hate going out in this sticky heat. It frizzes my perm, but it seems to have no effect on your gorgeous, thick hair.”
“I’ll post these and be back in a minute to straighten the front display of that new organic salsa from Austin.” Deirdre carried the letters outside and dropped them into the box on the corner across the parking lot. She turned to start back.
A huge black car apparently had been parked at the back of the lot by the Dumpster and pulled alongside her. She saw the dented fender before the door opened. Then she realized the two scary guys from the bar were inside, partially obscured from view by the tinted windows. The blond stepped out and reached for her.
She understood his intent so she screamed for help and ran away from him. People came to the store window.
Polly rushed to the door. “Blossom’s calling the police. Hold on, Deirdre, we’re coming.”
But no one rushed to her aid. What could a few ladies do against these two frightening men? She’d have to save herself, so she screamed again.
The blond caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “No use screaming, lady. You’re coming with us.” He dragged her toward the car.
She kicked him and screamed again, clawing at him with her free hand. She drew blood along his arm and scratched his face.
He jerked her and grabbed both her hands. “You’re gonna be sorry you made me mad. I have lots of ways to get even.” He told her what he planned as he yanked her toward the car’s back seat.
Strong as an ox, the man held her in an iron grasp so her feet barely touched the ground. He heaved her toward the open door. Suspended above the ground, she braced a foot against the car’s body. With her other, she kicked him between the legs, just as Ma had taught her.
He turned red and released her as he doubled over and dropped to his knees. Without him supporting her, she hit the pavement hard. Her back took the force of her fall and the air whooshed from her. She couldn’t stand but she rolled away.
The driver pointed a gun at her. “Get in or you die right here, right now.”
What had Brendan said about this situation when they watched television? Never get in the car with anyone. But how could she resist without him shooting her? She recalled the blonde’s threats. If she had to die, she’d rather it be here quickly than at the hands of these two later. She made the sign of the cross and prepared herself for death.
A horn honked and tires squealed. Brendan yelled. “Deirdre, I’m coming.”
Blossom and Polly hurried toward her, each carrying a broom and wielding it as if they intended to beat on the blond man. Several associates came with them and lobbed jars of something at the car. In the heat, the jars exploded like small bombs. After one loud crack, red oozed along the spider-webbed glass windshield.
“What the hell?” The scary man in black turned back toward the steering wheel. “Damn it, Rod, with or without her, get the hell in here.”
She struggled to her knees then stood, backing away.
Apparently unable to straighten, the guy she’d kicked hoisted himself back into the car. He yelled, “I’ll get you for this, bitch. When I do, you’re gonna beg me to kill you before I’m through.”
The black car took off with a squeal from smoking tires, dripping red salsa and leaving glass shards in its wake. The driver had his head stuck halfway out the side window, his front windshield obviously too damaged and dirty for the wipers to clear. Aromas from the salsa’s spicy contents filled the air—cilantro, tomatoes, chili peppers. Deirdre fell in love with those scents.
Then Brendan was there, lifting her and carrying her to his car. He cradled her in his lap with the door open.

Salsa from
Stock Exchange

Blossom followed them and stood beside the car. “I called the police. We couldn’t think of any weapons but brooms and one-pound jars of salsa. Pretty feeble.”
Polly hovered behind Blossom. The other associates had gone back to their duties. A dozen customers and people from nearby stores stood near the building in the shade of the overhang, talking to one another or staring.
“You were brave and clever,” Deirdre assured Blossom and Polly then looked up at Brendan. “But they’d have been unable to stop the men if you hadn’t come.”
He smiled. “It looks like you had them on the run, Mom. Salsa was a clever touch. Didn’t help the parking lot, though.”
Polly said, “Oh, those horrid men, at least they’re gone. We’ll use the brooms to get rid of the glass and hope for rain. Otherwise, maybe we can talk the fire department into hooking up a hose and spraying the lot for us.”
Deirdre nestled her head near Brendan’s ear. “The scary guy with the black hair had a gun. A broom and jars of tomato salsa are not much against a bullet. He could have killed everyone.”
She shivered, recalling her fear and her decision. “He pointed it at me and told me to get in or he’d shoot me. But I remembered what you said.”
“Don’t get in the car with a kidnapper. Thank God you didn’t, honey. I don’t have my gun with me and all I could do is chase them and phone for backup.” He closed his eyes and held her tight. “Damn, they got a good look at both of us at the bar, but I never thought they’d come after you. And another thing’s for sure, that’s the SUV that ran me off the road.”
She held onto him, grateful for his strength. “That’s what I saw first when they stopped, the cracked fender with scrapes of paint on it the same blue color as your old car. If Michelle was correct, they killed Frank.”
Polly came back out and handed them a piece of paper. “Here’s the license number of that SUV. One of our associates wrote it down while Blossom and I grabbed brooms and the other associates loaded up on jars.”
“You all did some quick thinking.” He took the paper.
Sirens blared and a police car pulled up short of the broken glass. An officer got out. “Hunter, you snatching women now? What’s going on? Heard there was a kidnapping in progress.”
“There was.” He slid Deirdre from his lap, but kept her hand in his. “Two men in a black SUV tried to abduct Miss Dougherty at gunpoint.”
Deirdre noticed he copied the license number into his own notebook before he handed it to the officer. “One of the clerks got the license.” He told them what kind of SUV and the approximate year. “Could we go inside where it’s air-conditioned to continue this?”
Half an hour later, the officers left.
Brendan still held Deirdre’s hand. “Mom, I’m taking Deirdre home. She’s been through enough for the day.”
Blossom nodded. “Yes, this was terrible, but I think I’ll stay here. Both Chrissy and Rosa are off today, and we’ll be understaffed if I leave too. Oh, won’t they be sorry they missed this excitement?”
“Are you sure you want to stay? They can get along without you for an afternoon.”
“I think I’ll worry less if I’m busy here.” Blossom, normally cheerful, looked near tears. “So many horrid things keep happening. When will it end?”
“Soon, Mom. It’ll all be settled soon.” He hugged his mother then tugged Deirdre toward the door. “Come on, honey, let’s go home.”
With as much enthusiasm as she could muster, she turned and waved. “Everyone, thank you for your help.”
They left to calls of “Goodbye” and “Take Care.” Deirdre hated to abandon Blossom, but she’d be useless at work. Her legs wobbled and she couldn’t stop shaking. Hitting the pavement had created aches across her shoulders and hips. Her stomach still fluttered but at least her heartbeat had returned to normal.
Broken glass had been cleaned away, but she and Brendan had to weave around chunky blobs and streaks of tomato salsa.
She surveyed the damage. “They must have thrown fifteen or twenty jars. Too bad. That’s wonderful salsa made from organic tomatoes and herbs. It’s very expensive.”
“Not compared to your welfare. I’ll make sure Mom gives all her employees a bonus for helping you. ”
“You’re a generous man.” Deirdre forced a smile for him but they were well on their way before she spoke again, “It’s a lovely car.”
He glanced at her and raised his eyebrows. “It’s silver.”
She nodded, pleased he’d remembered her choice. “So I see.” Then the aftermath of terror hit her anew and she reached for his hand. “Brendan, I was so very frightened. Those men said they’d come back for me. Th-They plan to do terrible things to me. They will too, I know they will.”

I hope you are so intrigued you simply have to rush over and purchase this book: ☺

Print from Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Out-Blue-Caroline-Clemmons/dp/1478327138/ref=sr_1_14?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1344638980&sr=1-14&keywords=caroline+clemmons

E-book from Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/OUT-OF-THE-BLUE-ebook/dp/B008ULBEK6/ref=sr_1_27?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1344639067&sr=1-27&keywords=caroline+clemmons

E-book Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/212425?ref=CarolineClemmons

On Friday, Linda Weaver Clarke will be here to talk about her new intrigue.

Thanks for stopping by!

WOO HOO! RE-RELEASE OF THE TEXAN'S IRISH BRIDE

When an author's rights on a previously published book reverts to him/her, the  process of publication begins anew. This time, I wanted to self-publish. Please don't think I have any complaints about the previous publisher, The Wild Rose Press. In fact, the staff and other authors at The Wild Rose Press are wonderful people. However, I'm trying to view my writing as a business, and I can make more money by self-publishing.

Hero and I planned the cover and Hero put it together. I love the result.What do you think?

Here's the blurb:

Cenora Rose O’Neill knows her father somehow arranged the trap for Dallas, but she agrees to wed the handsome stranger. She’d do anything to protect her family, and she wants to save herself from the bully Tom Williams. A fine settled man like Dallas will rid himself of her soon enough, but at least she and her family will be safely away from Tom Williams.    

Texas rancher Dallas McClintock has no plans to wed for several years. Right now, he’s trying to establish himself as a successful horse breeder. Severely wounded rescuing Cenora from kidnappers, Dallas is taken to her family’s wagon to be tended.  He is trapped into marrying Cenora, but he is not a man who goes back on his word. His wife has a silly superstition for everything, but passion-filled nights with her make up for everything—even when her wild, eccentric family drives crazy. 

Here's and excerpt from the first night on Dallas's ranch:

Her rose scent filled him, and he thought he would never tire of it. She fumbled with his shirt buttons then pushed it from his shoulders. 

“Yours is a very broad chest.” 

Her fingers skimmed across him, and his need for her magnified. When she traced the whorls of his nipple, he thought his knees might give way. He stilled her hand.

“There’s something I want from you, have wanted since we met.”

Fear sprang into her widened emerald eyes and she paled. Dang, he cursed himself for frightening her and her for not trusting him. 

Her voice trembled. “Wh—What would you be asking?” 

“Dance for me.” He knew it sounded crazy, but he’d imagined this for days.

She looked askance. “Here? But ‘tis your bedroom, and not a note ‘o music playing.”

“This is our bedroom, and you can sing or hear the music in your head to keep time.”

“But—” 

“Please? Not for coins or where others can see, but only for me.”

A slow smile spread across her face, and she cocked her head to one side. “Aye, I see now. If ‘tis for your pleasure, then ‘twill be mine.”

After she took off her shoes and stockings, she spun away. But not in the regimented dance he’d seen when other women accompanied her. This time she took the red scarf from her waist and used it as an instrument meant to entice a man. 

Her man. 

Him.

She twirled as if to a measured rhythm only she heard. Her green skirt and white petticoats billowed out to reveal long, perfect legs. Legs he wanted around him. She slid the scarf in imitation of a caress along her slender arms. Then she moved the red silk along her body. 

Dang, he was hot as a gunslinger’s pistol and just as hard. His manhood strained against his britches until he thought he’d pop through the fabric. He loosened the buttons and stepped from his clothes, never taking his gaze from her. Reaching behind him, he turned back the bedding and sat on the sheet.

Before his heat warmed the cool fabric, she pulled him to the middle of the room and circled around him. He pivoted, naked as a newborn, and watched her every move. Dipping, fluttering, and arching her lithe frame, she lured him with each sinuous flow of her body. 

Flush with the throbbing pulsating through him, he pictured himself plunging into her again and again as she wound around him. Her erotic gyrations set his already heated blood at a boil, but he stood mesmerized by her and the dance. 

Her flaming hair streamed around her in a fiery cloud. She looped the scarf over his head, and the red silk left a tingling trail across his shoulders and down his right arm. Then she threaded it around her own shoulders and sawed it while she shrugged first one shoulder up and then the other one. Fabric of her blouse pulled taut against her full breasts and pushed the peaked nipples into view. 

Dallas McClintock
iStock Photo

Dang, he couldn’t take much more of this, or he’d explode like fireworks on the Fourth of July. On and on she whirled and kicked, first coming near to brush against him, then moving back with a captivating smile. Teasing him with the piece of silk as she pulled it across his body, she seared him with her touch and made him part of her beguiling ritual. 

When he could stand it no longer, he said, “Come here, let’s dance together in bed.” To his ears, his voice rasped hoarse with the need that burned inside him.

She approached slowly, seductively, with fluid grace. As she moved, she drew off her remaining clothes. Twining the scarf around his wrists, she pulled his arms high until she slid under them, imprisoning him and herself in their circle.

“Now we are truly bound together,” she said, her voice breathy from her exotic dance.

“Am I your prisoner, then?” he asked, amused at her tempting play even as her touch fueled his need.

“Yes, and I am yours.” She met his gaze, but her jewel eyes held uncertainty. “Did I please you then, or was I too forward with meself?”

“You are beautiful and graceful, and your dance was even more special than I’d hoped.”

She breathed a big sigh. “Then you approve and will be taking me to bed now?”

“I suppose I must do as you say, since I’m your prisoner.” He nibbled at her neck, and she released the scarf binding him. The silk fell from his skin as her arms slid around his shoulders. 

Their lips met, and he delved his tongue to sample her nectar. She responded with fervor. He rejoiced that if he must be tied to this woman, at least she shared his apparently boundless passion. He pulled her with him across the bed, then scooted her until she lay cushioned in the center of the thick mattress. 

“Finally, I can see and taste all of you.”

“I’m hoping ‘tis all right for us to act so heathen.”

He lay propped on an elbow beside her, content for a moment to look his fill of her. “It isn’t heathen for a husband and wife to enjoy one another. Doesn’t it feel right?” 

In the golden lamplight, her skin gleamed like ivory. 

“Aye, it feels more than right. It’s as if being with you is where I was meant to be.”

He smoothed her auburn hair across the pillow. It looked even more glorious there than he had dreamed. Desire darkened her emerald eyes, and the pink of exertion tinged her cheeks. 

“No woman will ever be more beautiful than you are right now.”

“If you think that, then we’re well matched, for never lived a more handsome man than you are.”

He took her graceful hand in his and brought it to his lips. After he pressed a kiss to her palm, he suckled each fingertip. 

She pulled away and put her hands under her. “You’ll be driving me mad with wanting. Hurry.”

He smiled down at her and shook his head. “Nope. I’ve thought about this night since we wed. Reckon we might not get much sleep, for I intend to take my time.” 

“But ‘tis torture waiting.” She reached for his manhood.

He twisted away. “Let me give you something to think about, then.” Starting with her beautiful eyes, he rained kisses on her face, her neck, and her shoulders. He cradled one of her ample breasts while his mouth suckled the other. 

She moaned and clutched him to her. 

In spite of his throbbing need, he restrained his own urgency and slowly trailed kisses down her ribs, her stomach, to her mound of curls. He slid a finger inside her moist heat. 

“Now, Dallas, now. I can’t wait another second.”

Desire won, and he stretched himself over her. “Nor can I,” he said and slid into her. “Let’s begin our own dance.

If you haven't read this book, I hope you will. It's available in print and ebook from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and in ebook from Smashwords:

In print from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Texans-Irish-Bride-McClintocks-Book/dp/1478351675/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1344613910&sr=1-2&keywords=The+Texan%27s+Irish+Bride

As an ebook from Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/TEXANS-IRISH-BRIDE-McClintocks-ebook/dp/B008V1UG54/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1344613991&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Texan%27s+Irish+Bride

Thanks for stopping by!

WELCOME SUZANNE LILLY

Today, Suzanne Lilly, author of SHADES OF THE FUTURE, is my guest. Suzanne is on a blog tour to celebrate the release of her book, and will be giving away a pair of designer sunglasses to someone who comments on her tour.

Suzanne Lilly is a writer at night and a teacher by day, which is why she’s known online as the TeacherWriter. Her articles and stories have appeared in numerous places online and in print. She writes light romance, young adult, and middle grade novels. When not busy with words, she enjoys swimming, hiking, reading, fine arts, and cooking. She lives in California with her family and furry friends and has yet to feel an earthquake.


Caroline: I lived in California as a child and have experienced mild earthquakes. Tell us about growing up and give us a peek into your private life.

Trevi Fountain, Rome, Italy
from Stock Exchange

Suzanne: I am the youngest of five children. My dad was in the Air Force, so we moved around, but when I was young, he got out of the service and we settled in Arizona. It was so hot in the summer even the locusts would stop their chirruping. To stay cool, I would sit under a tree or go to the library and read. The library in Maryvale was my favorite place to be. Today I’m married to a wonderful man and we just celebrated our anniversary with a trip to Rome. Molto bene! We have three children, one granddaughter, and a granddog.

Caroline: Congratulations on your anniversary and lovely trip! Who are your favorite authors and favorite genres?

Suzanne: I read anyone who can spin a story with enough tension to keep me awake at night. Currently I’m reading Wild Ride by Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer. They make a fabulous team. Jenny has tremendous wit and humor, and Bob used to be a Green Beret. The two of them writing together brings such a contrast in the characters that I’m spellbound. I also like to read Susan Elizabeth Phillips, John LesCroart, and Harlan Coben. I like suspense with a happy ending, something all of these authors have mastered. I’m always looking for new authors, so if anyone has recommendations, please share!

Caroline: I also like suspense with a happy ending. What’s your favorite way to relax and recharge? Hobbies?

Suzanne: I love to read, swim, and cook, not necessarily in that order. We are lucky enough to have a pool and warm weather for several months of the year. I need to swim to combat the evidence from my love of food and cooking!

Caroline: Do you have a favorite quote that sums up how you feel about life?

Suzanne: “This too shall pass.” A coworker of mine used to say that on an almost daily basis, and I adopted it as a way of looking to the future. Whether what we’re experiencing now is over the top fabulous or deep in the valley horrible, life changes and new things come along. I’m always looking forward to the next thing.

Caroline: How long have you been writing?

Suzanne: Forever. At least since I learned to write. I’ve always made up stories and always wanted to see my stories in print. I finally became serious about getting published five years ago and started submitting my work.

Caroline: Where do you prefer to write? Do you need quiet, music, solitude? PC or laptop?

Suzanne: I have a quiet room of my own where I write, but I often bring my laptop out to the kitchen or living room. During the school year I get up ridiculously early to have time alone to write while the house is silent except for the soft snoring of my dog. Actually, she snores like a chain saw. That’s the music to my ears while I’m writing.

Caroline: Our dog does, too, and “talks” in his sleep. Are you a plotter or a panzer?

Suzanne: Many people sit down and just start writing, and that’s how they get the creative inspiration for their story lines. Not me. I plot meticulously. First I pick a topic. Then I ask some “what if?” questions. Then I draw out a story arc and a three act structure. I let that rest, and work on other projects, short stories and things, while I mull over the personalities of my characters. Then I set up the turning points, black moment, and subplots, based on how the characters will interact with one another. I write this down on colored index cards, with a different color for each POV and subplot. I know this can be done on the computer, but I paste it all on a big board that I keep in front of me. That way I don’t have to keep flipping between windows on my computer as I’m writing. All of this plotting is part of my creativity. While things are on cards, I can put events in, take events out, move things around, whatever I want, without killing off any characters. Unless that’s part of my plan. Muahaha! Once the plotting is done, the story just falls into place, like a jigsaw puzzle going together.

Caroline: Ah, we write by the same method. Do you use real events or persons in your stories or as an inspiration for stories?

Suzanne: I certainly look to real events for inspiration, and I notice interesting things about people that I incorporate into characters. But no, you won’t have to worry about me writing a story about your most embarrassing moment, or look for yourself in one of my characters. It’s all a mashup when I get done with it.

Caroline: Mashup is a good word for it. Do you set daily writing goals? Word count? Number of chapters? Do you get a chance to write every day?

Suzanne: I make it a point to write every day. I used to set word goals, but that seemed too arbitrary. I could write a bunch of drivel, or write off topic and still meet a word goal. So now I try to write one scene a day. I only have about an hour a day to write, if I’m lucky, so one scene is all I can do. It’s the same when I’m editing. I try to edit one or two scenes a day.

Caroline: But you have a plan, a discipline, and that’s good. What do you hope your writing brings to readers?

Suzanne: I want my writing to bring people a sense of hope for the future. I want them to feel empowered to bring good things into their lives. So although my stories have suspense, and bad things may happen, they all have happy endings.

Caroline: What long-term plans do you have for your career?

Suzanne: To be a New York Times bestseller, of course! My plans are to write at least one novel a year, interspersed with short stories. By building up a backlist, I hope in a few years I’ll be able to be a full time writer. That would be bliss.

Caroline: Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?

Suzanne: I prefer to keep my works in progress under wraps. However, I can tell you about UNTELLABLE, my next book which will be available in February 2013. Here’s a short blurb:

Aspen Marie Dwyer has a secret to keep and she picks Honey Creek, Ohio as the perfect place to hide. Arriving on a Greyhound bus with nothing but a duffel bag containing her clothes and personal belongings, she walks to the Honey Creek Lake Lodge, to begin her summer job as a lifeguard. Four years earlier, Aspen witnessed her father murder her mother, and her testimony locked him away in prison. Before being taken out of the courtroom in shackles, he swore someday he would find her and kill her, too.

Local volunteer firefighter Colton Moraine is always up for a challenge, and Aspen is just what he needs to liven up his small town summer. Through driving lessons, picnics, and romantic kisses under the fireworks, the two fall in love. Aspen fatalistically knows their summer romance will end if Colton finds out her history. But not telling him tortures her, making her feel like a fraud.

When her father is granted parole, she can no longer keep her dark secret. She has to make a life changing decision. Will she continue to run and hide, or fight for the love she’s discovered with Colton in Honey Creek?

Caroline: Your story sounds intriguing. What advice would you give to unpublished authors?

Suzanne: Honor your writing time, and don’t let other tasks or people or diversions take you away from it. When it’s your writing time, write. Keep writing. Write and write and write some more.

Caroline: More easily said than done, right? A fun fact readers wouldn’t know about you.

Peanut Butter Love
from Stock Exchange

Suzanne: I am in love with peanut butter. Literally. My husband knows to clear the way when I’m heading for the peanut butter jar.

Caroline: I love it, too. Something about you that would surprise or shock readers.

Suzanne: When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had food cravings, as many women do. I craved peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. Just writing about it makes me want to urp, but at the time it hit the spot!

Caroline: That’s funny. Is your book a series? If so, how long? Family saga, other?

Shades of the Future is part of the Honey Creek Books line from Turquoise Morning Press. All of the books in this line take place in the fictional town of Honey Creek in beautiful, bountiful Ohio. Being a small, rural community means that everything anyone says or does becomes public knowledge in a matter of seconds. There are no secrets in small towns.

Caroline: I love small town settings, though. Can you give readers a blurb about your book?

Suzanne:
What would you give to see the future? Would you make your dreams come true? Would you change the things you didn’t like?

Mariah Davis loves animals, running, and her hunk of a boyfriend, Kevin Creamer. Everything looks bright for her until the day she finds a pair of sunglasses that allow her to see the future.

When she glimpses a disaster looming, she tries to avoid it but fails. She has a car accident that lands her in a wheelchair, smashing her hopes for a running scholarship to the veterinary program at Ohio State University. She pushes Kevin away, thinking he’ll want to end their relationship now that she can’t walk.

Will she ever learn to trust and love again? She could search for an answer in the sunglasses. But she’s afraid what they reveal might destroy her.

Caroline: How about an excerpt:?

Suzanne:
Mariah scooted closer to the inside of the booth to read the digital display. As she slid across the red vinyl seat, something poked into her thigh.

“Hey, somebody left a pair sunglasses here.” She picked them up, rubbing her leg where the frame had made a dent in her skin.

“Those are nice,” Hayley commented between fries.

“These aren’t random sunglasses. These are Dita Aviators.” Mariah turned them over, checking the thin metal frame to make sure she hadn’t bent it. She held them up to the overhead light. The lenses were clean and unscratched. “Plus, they’re like brand new.”

“Let me see them.” Hayley took the glasses out of her friend’s hands and started to put them on.

“Give them back,” Mariah told her. “Your hands are all greasy and cheesy. Not to mention saliva-y.”

Hayley laughed and handed the aviators back across the table to Mariah. “When I have clean hands, I’ll try them on. They’ll look good on me.”

“You think? How do they look on me?” She put them on and a warm tingle washed through her veins.

Caroline: You’ve hooked me. Where can readers find your books?

Suzanne: Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Shades-Future-Honey-Creek-ebook/dp/B008L1PQ0Y/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1342622859&sr=8-2&keywords=shades+of+the+future

B&N http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/shades-of-the-future-suzanne-lilly/1112092900?ean=2940014608800

Turquoise Morning Press http://www.turquoisemorningpressbookstore.com/products/shades-of-the-future

Smashwords http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=shades+of+the+future

Caroline: How can readers learn more about you?

Suzanne: I love chatting with readers! Here are my hangouts:
 Suzanne Lilly Website: http://www.suzannelilly.com
 TeacherWriter Blog : http://www.teacherwriter.net
 Suzanne Lilly Author Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/SuzanneLillyAuthor
 Goodreads author page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5258804.Suzanne_Lilly
 Twitter: @suzannelilly http://twitter.com/suzannelilly
 Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Suzanne-Lilly/e/B006HY79IY
 Google + : https://plus.google.com/u/0/115758832631616324955/posts

Caroline: Is there anything else you’d like readers to know about you?

Suzanne: Yes! I’m giving away a pair of designer sunglasses from Shoebuy.com to a person who comments on this blog tour. So follow the tour, and the more blog posts you comment on, the more chances you have to win. Plus, as I said earlier, I love chatting with readers!

Thanks so much for having me on your blog today. This interview was great fun.

Caroline: Thanks for coming, Suzanne, and best wishes for your series.

Thanks for stopping by!

DOING TIME - NO, NOT THAT KIND

Oops, on Monday, August 6th, I have to be in three places.Which is why I'm late here.  I'm at Sky Purrington's gorgeous blog, A Writer's Mind http://skypuringtonwrites.blogspot.com/ and at the Keller-Fort Worth Writers As We Were Saying at http://kfwwriters.blogspot.com/ Please stop by if you have a chance. And on Tuesday, August 7th, I'll be at Rachel Brimble's blog in England. http://rachelbrimble.blogspot.com/ You can see I'm doing my time traveling via the internet.

WE HAVE A WINNER! The winner of Cindy Nord's NO GREATER GLORY is Kathleen. Cindy will be contacting you, Kathleen. Congratulations!

 Now to today's blog from me.


Thanks for stopping so I can remind you about my Heather Cameron cozy mystery series, DIGGING FOR DEATH.  This book is available in print and Kindle e-book. I love feel-good books, and DIGGING FOR DEATH fits that definition. Sure, someone dies, but he's the meanest man in town and it's off scene so the reader isn't exposed to the gore. So, pour yourself a worthy beverage (alas, mine is hot tea) and join me while I tell you about Heather and her family.

Heather’s great-great grandparents helped found the town of Gamble Grove north of Dallas on Highway 75. Gamble Grove is only a real town in my imagination. It’s near where Van Alstyne or Anna are on the map. My dad was born nearby at Pilot Grove and my own maternal great grandparents were named Gamble, hence the name. Like real towns in the area, Gamble Grove is rapidly growing and fighting to retain its small town charm as it copes with expansion. Local businesses struggle to compete with the big box chain stores.

Heather’s grandfather founded Gillentine Gardens and Landscape Design. In spite of the usual big box type stores that come with growth, customers are loyal to Gillentine Gardens. Heather, who majored in horticulture and landscape design at Texas A&M University, also holds a B.S. in business. She is a sharp young woman. The death of her parents when she was eight resulted in her being raised by her maternal grandparents and great grandmother. One of her companions what Walter Sims, who had been a good friend of her dad’s and worked for her grandfather. Now Grandpa Gillentine has retired and put Heather in charge of the business.

Here’s the blurb:

Garden center manager Heather Cameron is DIGGING FOR DEATH to prove her old family friend and employee, Walter Sims, is innocent of murdering the meanest man in town. Heather can’t trust the police to find the real killer when all clues point to poor Walter. The dead man was beaten to death with Walter’s shovel several hours after they were overheard arguing, and the two men had a long history of enmity. Walter definitely looks guilty, but Heather is sure—well, almost positive—okay, she certainly hopes her friend and mentor is innocent.

Heather Cameron

  Heather is compelled to scour the fictional North Central Texas town of Gamble Grove to exonerate her old friend. She’s encouraged when the new police detective in town, Kurt Steele, shows interest in helping her look for clues. Or, is Kurt just interested in spending time with Heather?
The deeper Heather digs into the dead man’s life, the more she justifies his ruthless reputation. Walter is indicted, but police begin to suspect the victim’s stepson as murderer. Heather is convinced the stepson couldn’t have murdered anyone either—although it’s clear no love was lost between the two men. The attempted murder of the victim’s real son creates a new twist. A chance observation at dinner after the reading of the murdered man’s will slips the last piece into the crime’s intricate puzzle. Can Heather solve the murder without becoming another victim?

Here’s an excerpt:


Lining the Rockwell’s drive nearest the new garden plot were a fire engine, an ambulance, a van, what was probably an unmarked police car, two black and whites and—dang, wouldn't you know it?—the Gillentine Gardens truck. The muscles in my stomach were like vise grips clenched on my insides as I drove past the other vehicles and parked. Sickly dread overwhelmed me at what I might find.
I wanted to turn my car around and drive home and run up to my bed and pull the covers over my head. No such luxury for me. I climbed out of my car and strode quickly toward the crowd, swallowing down fear’s metallic taste in my mouth.
Container rose bushes destined for Bootsy Rockwell's garden almost filled the garden center’s staked-bed truck. Miguel Diaz sat on the truck’s bed with his feet dangling off the end. Steve Harris sat beside him. Bad vibes shot through me. A uniformed policeman and another man stood talking to Miguel. Miguel looked ashen and ill, but he nodded to me. Steve said nothing, merely hung his head.
"Hello, Heather." Miguel shook his head, despair evident in his sad brown eyes. "It's really bad."
"What's happened?"
The officer turned to me. "You know the whereabouts of Walter Sims?"
"He's supposed to be at the garden center. What's happened?" I repeated my question.
Steve looked up, but said nothing.
Miguel looked as if he were trying to send me some sort of signal. "Heather, it's—“
The man in plainclothes quieted Miguel with a glance as he stepped forward. Good heavens, what a giant. Must be six-four with shoulders broad as our truck. Even a long, tall Texas gal like myself had to look up to meet his gaze.
Whoa. What a gaze it was. Worried and puzzled as I was, I couldn’t fail to notice his eyes were delphinium blue and his dark hair the color of moist peat moss was cut short. He wasn’t GQ handsome, but definitely attractive.

Detective Kurt Steele

"I take it you're Miss Cameron? I'm Detective Kurt Steele and this officer is Sergeant Jack Winston. We need to ask you a few questions."
"Not until I know what's happened. Why are you questioning Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris?" Darn, stress must have fried my mind. I couldn’t believe I refused a detective.
"Vance Rockwell was murdered early this morning. We want to speak with Walter Sims. No one here seems to know where Mr. Sims is.” He paused. “Do you?"
Rockwell dead and Walter missing? Panic rose with the bile in my throat.
No, please don’t let Walter be the killer.
At that moment, paramedics wheeled a gurney bearing a black body bag past the truck and loaded it into the ambulance. Oh Lord, Rockwell dead from Walter’s shovel? And Walter hated him.
Carole King was in my head, and the earth really did move. Dropping away from my feet, leaving me drifting. The sky tumbled down. Swirling, everything was swirling. Spiraling around me. I thought I might throw up or pass out—or both.
The detective stepped forward and grabbed my arm, anchoring me in the mixed up universe. "Miss Cameron? Maybe you should sit on the truck by Diaz and Harris."
But the sky still tumbled, the earth spiraled around me. I was a kid spinning until I was drunk with dizziness.  Sky flipped places with earth. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.
"Yes...Yes, I’d better." With Detective Steele's help, I staggered to the truck. I shrugged off his hand intent on levering myself onto the bed. But I stood there as if in a trance.
The detective hoisted me up onto the truck s if I were a kid. I sat there wondering if I were going to pass out.
I felt Miguel’s hand at my neck. “Your head, put it between your knees.”
I did as he instructed, closing my eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. When I straightened, my head was throbbing but the earth and sky had resumed their correct positions.  Sky above, earth below.
Willing my eyes to focus on the detective, I insisted, "Walter wouldn't bash in anyone's head." I prayed I spoke the truth.
Detective Steele referred to his notes. "It appears he and Mr. Rockwell had a heated argument yesterday about a quarter of five. Mr. Sims stalked to the truck—“he pointed at Steve”—where Harris waited, and peeled off."
Drat Walter, coming here when I’d ordered him to stay at the garden center. "If you consider anyone who argued with Rockwell a suspect, you'll be interviewing half the state." I almost included myself but thought better of it. "Besides, you said Walter left."
Sergeant Winston said, "Maybe he returned."
"Phffft." I peered at Detective Steele. "Sounds like you’re grasping at straws. What kind of detective work is that?"
Steele's clenched jaw displayed a small tic.
Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.
He stood directly in front of me and glared. "We just started the investigation. If we had some cooperation, maybe we could wrap this up in time to buy donuts before we take our lunch break."
Way to go, Heather. Not a good idea to annoy the police.
I took another deep breath. At this rate, I’d soon hyperventilate. “There’s no need for sarcasm. I don't know where Walter is, but I know he wouldn't kill anyone, not even Vance Rockwell."
He raised his eyebrows, making his nice blue eyes more noticeable, darn him. "Not even? What does that mean?"
"Rockwell was not a popular man. I imagine you'll find a long, long list of people with motives, detective. Leave Walter alone." I glanced at Miguel slumped beside me and patted his shoulder. "Leave all my employees alone. None of them would have done such a thing."
Detective Steele poised his pen over his notebook. "Where were you just after midnight, Miss Cameron?"
I thought again about his nice blue eyes, but pushed those thoughts aside because of his nasty question. "In my apartment. Asleep."
He raised one eyebrow.
I shot him a glare. "Alone."
"So, you have no alibi?"
"People who live alone never have an alibi. That doesn't mean they're guilty of anything more serious than drinking juice from the carton."
He pulled out a business card and handed it over. "We'll be in touch. Call me if you hear from Mr. Sims."
"Can Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris go?"
Detective Steele nodded. Miguel and Steve slid off the truck bed to the ground, and Miguel helped me down. While they walked to the truck's cab, the detective speared me with another no-nonsense glare.
"If you hear from Walter Sims, you'll be doing him a favor if you convince him to call us. We need to talk to him, and the sooner the better."
I turned and walked back to my Jetta. My heartbeat fluttered and my throat threatened to close so I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it to the car, but I climbed in and turned the ignition.

I hope that excerpt tempted you to buy DIGGING FOR DEATH. It’s available from
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Digging-Death-Caroline-Clemmons/dp/1478159421/ref=sr_1_13?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1344267587&sr=1-13&keywords=caroline+clemmons

Thanks for stopping by!

CINDY NORD AND NO GREATER GLORY

Welcome Cindy Nord, author of NO GREATER GLORY. Cindy is giving away an ARC of her new release to one lucky commenter today. Be sure to leave your email address with your comment if you want to be eligible for her giveaway. I'll announce the winner on Monday. Now, here's an interesting article by Cindy:

                                                      VICTORIAN JEWELRY

The Victorians had a reputation for beauty & grace as evidenced in the exquisite pins, brooches, strap or slide bracelets, necklaces and crosses that were favored during this time period. The ladies needed just the right piece to wear to a candle lit dinner or an afternoon stroll in the park. The elegant jewelry chosen between 1837 to 1901 clearly underscores the Victorian love of accessorizing.  Known as first The Romantic Period and then The Grand Period in regards to jewelry, the Victorian years are broken down into: ‘Early Victorian’-- from 1837 to 1845.  ‘Mid Victorian -- from 1846 to 1886. And ‘Late Victorian’ -- from 1887 to 1901.

Calla Lily Gold Locket
Photo courtesy Lang Antiques

Popular motifs throughout all three cycles were serpents (symbols of eternity), and pendants encasing locks of hair from a loved one or hair woven into beautiful pieces.  Filigree gold helped to stretch the costly metal and the addition of pink coral, turquoise and seed pearls alongside amethyst, aquamarine, blue zircon, citrine, emeralds, garnets, ruby, "pinked" topaz, and sapphires caught the candlelight and warmed the ladies skin. Natural resources like bog oak, gutta percha, jet, ivory, lava, and vulcanite were also extremely popular, especially for carved pieces and cameos. Along with the precious jewels and sterling settings, popular items such as love knots and carved clasped hands were coveted. Diamonds were worn in the evening and only by the married or the betrothed woman. And the emergence of colored stones grew with the young unwedded lady.

Civil War earrings

Hair jewelry courtesty
whitneybria.blog

During the Mid-Victorian years we also saw a large introduction of mourning pieces due to the fact that Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's beloved husband, died in 1861 of Typhoid Fever. Upon his death the Romantic Period ended. To narrow the jewelry field down further, the two-year period between 1861 – 1863 became known to history as the ‘Victorian Mourning Era’ and the pieces that become most popular during this sad time consisted of jet, human hair, gutta percha, bog oak or other black material.  Natural Tortoise shell pieces are viewed by some as ‘Victorian half-mourning’ because the mourner would begin to re-introduce these choices only in the second year of their loved one's passing.

Hair braid pendant

Oak and gold  earrings, pendant
Tiffany 

Civil War hair bracelet
set in 15 c gold

The Victorian years after the death of Prince Albert became The Grand Period (so dubbed because of the grand way in which gems, jewelry and metals were used) and it was during this time period, that gold was discovered. In 1849 in America and in 1852 in Australia. This greatly increased the availability of the precious metal to jewelry designers.  Incredible changes took place in the overall design of jewelry. With a technique passed down from mother to daughter, we see the popularity of locks of a loved one’s hair woven into intricate designs and then enclosed in a locket. Incredibly prevalent during the Civil War years, hair jewelry was used for both Memorial (mourning of a deceased loved one) and Sentimental (remembrance of a living, but distant friend or loved one at war) gifts.

Gold and jade watch fob
Courtesy archives.jewelry.oneof

As Judi Anderson said, “The late Victorian Period, known as the Aesthetic Period or Movement (1880-1901) was a direct response to the over indulgent fashions and to the stuffy formality and strict protocol of the Grand Period. And after 27 years of mourning, even the staid Victorians had lamented enough. During the Aesthetic Period a sense of fun and light heartedness returned to jewelry. Whimsical motifs such as griffins and dragons, crescent moons and stars, butterflies and salamanders, were crafted into jewels of astounding beauty.”

Speaking of jewelry, look at the cameo necklace on the cover of Cindy's new release, NO GREATER GLORY.

Here's a blurb for NO GREATER GLORY:

Amid the carnage of war, he commandeers far more than just her home.

Widowed plantation owner Emaline McDaniels has struggled to hold on to her late husband’s dreams. Despite the responsibilities resting on her shoulders, she’ll not let anyone wrest away what’s left of her way of life—particularly a Federal officer who wants to set up his regiment's winter encampment on her land. With a defiance born of desperation, she defends her home as though it were the child she never had…and no mother gives up her child without a fight.

Despite the brazen wisp of a woman pointing a gun at his head, Colonel Reece Cutteridge has his orders. Requisition Shapinsay—and its valuable livestock—for his regiment’s use, and pay her with Union vouchers. He never expected her fierce determination, then her concern for his wounded, to upend his heart—and possibly his career.

As the Army of the Potomac goes dormant for the winter, battle lines are drawn inside the mansion. Yet just as their clash of wills shifts to forbidden passion, the tides of war sweep Reece away. And now their most desperate battle is to survive the bloody conflict in Virginia with their lives—and their love—intact.



EXCERPT: NO GREATER GLORY


October 1862
Seven miles west of Falmouth, Virginia


    A bitter wind slammed through the tattered countryside, sucking warmth from the morning. Emaline McDaniels rocked back in the saddle when she heard the shout. She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes widened. Across the fields of ragged tobacco, her farrier rode toward her at breakneck speed. Lines of alarm carved their way across the old man’s ebony face.

    Emaline spurred her horse around to meet him. “What’s wrong?”

    Tacker pointed a gnarled finger eastward. “Yankees, Miz Emaline! Coming up da road from Falmouth!”

    “Yankees?” Her heart lurched against her ribs. She’d heard of their thievery, the fires and destruction left in their wake. Teeth-gritting determination to save her home flashed through her. She leaned sideways, gripping his work-worn sleeve. “Are you sure they’re not the home guard?”

    “No, ma’am. I seen ’em, dey’s blue riders, for sure. Hundreds of ’em.”

    Two workers moved closer to listen to the exchange, and the farrier acknowledged them with a quick nod.

    “Everyone back to the cabins,” Emaline snapped, sinking into the saddle. “And use the wagon road along the river. It’ll be safer.”

    “Ain’t you comin’ with us?”

    “No. Now move along quickly, all of you. And keep out of sight.” She flicked the reins and her horse headed straight across the fields toward the red-brick mansion that hugged the far edge of the horizon.

    The spongy ground beneath the animal’s hooves churned into clods of flying mud. Aside from a few skirmishes nearby, the war had politely stayed east along the Old Plank Road around Fredericksburg. Her mare crested the small hillock near the main house, and Emaline jerked back on the leather reins. Off to her far right, a column of cavalrymen numbering into the hundreds approached. The dust cloud stirred up by their horses draped in a heavy haze across the late-morning air. In numbed fascination, she stared at the pulsing line of blue-coated soldiers, a slithering serpent of destruction a quarter of a mile long.

    Waves of nausea welled up from her belly.

    “Oh my God…” she whispered. She dug her boot heels into the mare’s sides and the nimble sorrel sprang into another strong gallop. Praying she’d go unnoticed, Emaline leaned low, her thoughts racing faster than the horse. What do they want? Why are they here?

    Her fingers curled into the coarse mane as seconds flew past. At last, she reached the back entrance of the mansion. Quickly dismounting, she smacked the beast’s sweaty flank to send it toward the stable then spun to meet the grim expression fixed upon the face of the old woman who waited for her at the bottom of the steps. “I need Benjamin’s rifle!”

    “Everythin’s right dere, Miz Emaline. Right where you’d want it.” She shifted sideways and pointed to the .54 caliber Hawkins, leather cartridge box and powder flask lying across the riser like sentinels ready for battle. “Tacker told me ’bout the Yankees afore he rode out to find you.”

    “Bless you, Euley.” Emaline swept up the expensive, custom-made hunting rifle her late husband treasured. The flask followed and she tumbled black crystals down the rifle’s long muzzle. A moment later, the metal rod clanked down inside the barrel to force a lead ball home.

    She’d heard so many stories of the bluecoats’ cruelty. What if they came to kill us? The ramrod fell to the ground. With a display of courage she did not feel, Emaline heaved the weapon into her arms, swept past the old servant, and took the wooden steps two at a time.

    There was no time left for what ifs.

    “You stay out of sight now, Euley. I mean it.” The door banged shut behind Emaline as she disappeared into the house.

    Each determined footfall through the mansion brought her closer and closer to the possibility of yet another change in her life. She eased open the front door and peered out across Shapinsay’s sweeping lawns. Dust clogged the air and sent another shiver skittering up her spine. She moved out onto the wide veranda, and with each step taken, her heart hammered in her chest. Five strides later, Emaline stopped at the main steps and centered herself between two massive Corinthian columns.

    She squared her shoulders. She lifted her chin. She’d fought against heartbreak every day for three years since her husband’s death. She’d fought the constant fear of losing her beloved brother in battle. She fought against the effects of this foolhardy war that sent all but two of her field hands fleeing. If she could endure all that plus operate this plantation all alone to keep Benjamin’s dreams alive, then surely, this too, she could fight.

    And the loaded weapon? Well, it was for her fortitude only.

    She knew she couldn’t shoot them all.

    “Please, don’t turn in,” she mumbled, but the supplication withered on her lips when the front of the long column halted near the fieldstone gateposts at the far end of the lane. Three cavalrymen turned toward her then approached in a steadfast, orderly fashion.

    Her gaze skimmed over the first soldier holding a wooden staff, a swallow-tailed scrap of flag near its top whipping in the breeze. The diminutive silk bore an embroidered gold star surrounded by a laurel wreath, the words, US Cavalry-6th Ohio, stitched beneath. Emaline disregarded the second cavalryman and centered her attention directly upon the officer.

    The man sat his horse as if he’d been born in the saddle, his weight distributed evenly across the leather. A dark slouch hat covered sable hair that fell well beyond the collar of his coat. Epaulets graced both broad shoulders, emphasizing his commanding look. A lifetime spent in the sun and saddle added a rugged cast to his sharp, even features.

    An overwhelming ache throbbed behind her eyes. What if she had to shoot him?

    Or worse—what if she couldn’t?

    The officer reined his horse to a stop beside the front steps. His eyes, long-lashed and as brown as a bay stallion’s, caught and held hers. Though he appeared relaxed, Emaline sensed a latent fury roiling just beneath the surface of his calm.

    Her hands weakened on the rifle and she leaned forward, a hair’s breadth, unwillingly sucked into his masculinity as night sucked into day. Inhaling deeply, she hoisted the Hawkins to her shoulder, aiming it at his chest. Obviously, in command, he would receive her lone bullet should he not heed her words. “Get off my land!”

                                                CINDY NORD, AUTHOR

A member of numerous writing groups, Cindy’s work has finaled or won countless times, including the prestigious Romance Writers of America National Golden Heart Contest. A luscious blend of history and romance, her stories meld both genres around fast-paced action and emotionally driven characters.

Indeed….true love awaits you in the writings of Cindy Nord
http://www.cindynord.com

Buy NO GREATER GLORY from Samhain Publishing here:
http://store.samhainpublishing.com/cindy-nord-pa-1722.html

or from Amazon here:
http://www.amazon.com/No-Greater-Glory-ebook/dp/B008GWOI9S/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1343950898&sr=1-1&keywords=Cindy+Nord

Don't forget to comment and leave your email to qualify for Cindy's giveaway.

Thanks for stopping by!

WHAT LIES WITHIN US

Please welcome one of my BFF's and critique partner, Geri Foster.We've been friends for many years. Currently, she is President of the Yellow Rose RWA chapter to which I belong, and is doing a fabulous job. She is a tiny dynamo who cheers me when I'm down, encourages me, and, as the kids say, "she has my back." Here's Geri to brighten your day::

Author, Geri Foster

Those who know me know I love quotes. I have them everywhere. My house, my car, my desk, my office... You give me an empty space and I’ll nail up a quote.

I particularly like to read Ralph Waldo Emerson. One of my favorites is: “What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us. And when we bring what is within us out into the world, miracles happen.”

Yeah, that’s on my desk!

As a writer I think Emerson is talking to the creative spark inside us that creates every word we put on paper. Writers are such magical creatures we don’t even know our own powers. Writers pull more stuff out of the ‘blue’ than any other profession. We put together other worlds, people, towns, tragedies and love stronger than anything else on earth. The amazing thing is, people reading our books believe they are real. We transform the reader into another world.

And we do it without acknowledging where it all comes from. All of us have sat in the dark and typed away on our computers; creating God only knows what, until it’s done. There are times I have no idea where I’m going with a story, but something within me does. Something guides me to the end of that raw chapter, and often ignites an idea for the next chapter.

To some, it’s simply their muse. It shows up and words get written on the page. Ideas materialize out of nowhere. All is well, and the muse gets all the credit, for we are mere mortals. Nothing of genius comes from us.

It does according to Emerson. It’s all within us right now and has been since the very beginning. There is more within us than we can ever imagine. The stories are unlimited and they get better and better as we go along. We overcome great adversity, we learn things we never knew. We push to the absolute limits of our imagination to come up with a plot others will believe.

We’re writers, so we’re mystical.

I leave you with this quote by Orison Sweet Marden: “There are powers inside of you, which, if you could discover and use, would make of you anything you ever dreamed or imagined you’d become.”

Write On!

Geri Foster