Wednesday, June 30, 2021

Welcome, Susie Black

I have been telling stories from the time I learned to talk. Like my protagonist, I am a ladies’ swimwear sales executive in Los Angeles. I have kept a daily journal during the course of my career and it is the foundation of my writing. I draw all my plots from situations I have experienced and build on them. My characters are based on the myriad of quirky, interesting people I have encountered in the apparel industry. My character’s names are often a wordplay on a real name: For example in one of my stories, Mr. Newman became Mr. Oldham, Mr.Turpiine became Mr. Tyne My writing style is not a plotter or a pantser, rather a hybrid. I plot the beginning and the ending but let the characters take me from the middle to the conclusion. What’s the most fun? Since I write humorous cozy mysteries, I get to knock off people on paper who in real life I would not have minded eliminating and  yet I don’t go to prison…LOL.


BLURB: The last thing Ditzy Swimwear sales exec Holly Schlivnik expected was to discover ruthless buying office big wig Bunny Frank’s corpse trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with a bikini stuffed down her throat. When Holly’s colleague is arrested for Bunny’s murder, the wise-cracking, irreverent amateur sleuth jumps into action to find the real murderer. Nothing turns out the way Holly thinks it will as she matches wits with a wily killer hellbent on revenge. 

TAGLINE: Everyone wanted her dead…but who actually killed her?


Born in the Big Apple, Susie Black calls sunny Southern California home. Like the protagonist in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series, Susie is a successful apparel sales executive. Susie began telling stories as soon as she learned to talk. Now she’s telling all the stories from her garment industry experiences in humorous mysteries. She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect. 

Death by Sample Size Excerpt


When the elevator doors opened, I had to stop myself short not to step on her. There was Bunny Frank-the buying office big shot-lying diagonally across the car. Her legs were splayed out and her back was propped against the corner. Her sightless eyes were wide open and her arms reached out in a come to me baby pose. She was trussed up with shipping tape like a dressed Thanksgiving turkey ready for the oven with a bikini stuffed in her mouth. A Gotham Swimwear hangtag drooped off her lower lip like a toe tag gone lost. Naturally, I burst out laughing. 

Before you label me incredibly weird or stone-cold, let me say genetics aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. If you’re lucky you inherit your Aunt Bertha’s sexy long legs or your father’s ability to add a bazillion dollar order in his head and get the total correct to the last penny. Without even breaking into a sweat, it’s easy to spout at least a million fabulous traits inheritable by the luck of the draw. Did I get those sexy long legs or the ability to add more than two plus two without a calculator? Noooooooooo. Lucky me. I inherited my Nana’s fear of death we overcompensated for with the nervous habit of laughing. A hysterical reaction? Think Bozo the clown eulogizing your favorite aunt.

I craned my neck like a tortoise and checked around. Then I clamped a fist over my mouth. Cripes, how could I possibly explain my guffaws with Bunny lying there? Disappointment was simultaneously mixed with relief when there was no one else in the parking lot. Where was security when you needed them?

I toed the elevator door open and bent over Bunny. I’d seen enough CSI episodes to know not to touch her. She was stiff as a board and I attributed the bluish tinge of her skin to the bikini crammed down her throat. I was no doctor, but I didn’t need an MD after my name to make this diagnosis. Bunny Frank was dead as the proverbial doorknob. 

It was no surprise Bunny Frank had finally pushed someone beyond their limits. The only surprise was it had taken so long. The question wasn’t who wanted Bunny Frank dead. The question was who didn’t?


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Monday, June 28, 2021


With apologies to my doctor friends, doctors and I don’t get along. It’s not that I’m a difficult patient, because really, I’m not. I have fairly low expectations—you went to medical school, I didn’t, so I’m going to assume you’re the expert. But I expect respect, and apparently, that’s in short supply. Thanks to my dad’s genetics, my body tends to get odd reactions to things, things doctors don’t often see, and as a result, most doctors don’t believe me until they see it. So when I finally do find a doctor I can tolerate and who I have trained to believe me, I stick with them forever and follow their instructions to the letter—seriously, one doctor told me to do something, I did it, and he acted surprised when I came back and showed him the results. Like, really? Did you think I wouldn’t listen? What the heck am I paying you for if I’m not going to listen to you?

Anyway, I hate finding new doctors, but I’m currently in the process of finding two—one is retiring and one I have hated for so long that I have finally had enough.


So, I called the office of the doctor who is retiring and asked for my records. The woman on the phone said she couldn’t do that. 

I’m sorry, they’re my records. 

She said if she gave them to me, she’d have to give them to the other thousand patients of the doctor. 

Oh boy. This doctor has a thousand patients? Trust me, she’s not that good. So I told the woman I wasn’t asking for the thousand records, just my own. 

She offered to give me phone numbers for the different testing places. I said I’d really just like my records. 

She said the doctor’s notes were illegible. That’s not really my problem. 

So I asked again. 

She said she’d ask the doctor and get back to me after the weekend. I waited. 


In the meantime, I looked up my rights and found out that it’s a HIPAA violation to refuse to give them to me. Now, EVERYONE gets HIPAA wrong, so I was hesitant to use that knowledge, but I kept it in the back of my mind as I waited for the office to get back to me.  They didn’t.


I called again. This time, the woman said if she gave me the records, she’d have to do it for the other TWO thousand patients. I kindly refrained from expressing my shock that a retiring doctor took on an extra thousand patients over the weekend, but maybe some organization should take her on for membership duties. I mean, she’s going to have a lot more free time... 

I asked to speak to the doctor and I was told no. She continued to give me excuses, and I continued to ask to speak to the doctor. Finally, I repeated the information I’d learned about HIPAA and said I was sure the doctor didn’t mean to violate the law. There were more excuses given. Eventually she agreed to leave the doctor a message, although she didn’t think the doctor would return my call.

Neither did I.


I should say here that while I’ve never liked this doctor’s office staff, the doctor has been very nice and responsive to me in the past. However, she was clearly busy the day they taught how to hire office staff. 


Anyway, fifteen minutes later, the woman in the office called back and said unbeknownst to her, my records had already been copied and were waiting for me. 


Would I mind picking them up? Of course not! I have no idea what shape the records will be in, but at least I’m getting them. 


No idea what the other two thousand patients are going to do, but they have my sympathy.

Wednesday, June 23, 2021

Welcome Back, Mary Morgan!

 Hello Jennifer! I’m delighted to be on your lovely blog today. Thank you for allowing me to share a wee bit about my upcoming new release, RORIK, The Wolves of Clan Sutherland, Book 2.



Rorik MacNeil’s charm swept me away when he stepped forth in the first book, MAGNAR, The Wolves of Clan Sutherland. He emerged as a tall, dark, and sinfully sexy alpha male. I swooned each time the man entered a scene. A character who was definitely a wolfish rake. And whenever Ragna entered the scene, the angst between them sizzled up the pages. Two characters whose feelings of hatred to each other were merely a façade for their true inner desires and wants.


So, how do I write this persona of a hero? With the Dark Seducer, I contemplated how to redeem Rorik. In truth, did he need redemption? Aye! His tortured soul demanded rescue, and I found myself peeling back the layers in a quest for the truth about the man.


Once again, I have woven King William The Lion of Scotland into this story. I’ve always been fascinated with this king, and he will continue to be a central part in the series. In my research, I became drawn to his attempts to gain back certain lands and castles in England after they were stripped away under the reign of Henry II. The negotiations for their return with Kings Richard I and John met with no success.


As a side note in history on Rorik’s surname, The Uí Néill Clan were the foremost political dynasty in Ireland between the 7th and 10th centuries. Their famous ancestor is Niall of the Nine Hostages, a legendary 4th century King of Ireland.





The Dark Seducer is known throughout Scotland as a man who charms many women into his bed. Pleasure is his motto as he obtains information for his king. Yet Rorik MacNeil harbors one secret buried beneath his heart of steel. An unfulfilled conquest plagues both man and his inner wolf, and Rorik would rather suffer death’s sharp blade than confront his greatest fear. 


As the Seer for the Orkneyjar Isles, Ragna Maddadsson confronts an unknown destiny when she travels across the North Sea to Scotland. In her quest to deliver a message from a powerful vision, she fears the warrior will not listen. If Rorik ignores her warning, Ragna must find a way to forestall his impending death. If unsuccessful, she risks having her heart cleaved in two.  


To unravel their true fates, Rorik and Ragna must trust in the power of the wolf. 





If he could, Rorik would remain on this boulder by the river for the duration of the evening and into night. His stomach growled in protest, and he realized he had little food this day. He reached for his aleskin and took a sip.


Even the thought of entertaining Hallgerd left a hollow ache within. “For all I ken you might have the face of a goat.”


Rorik sensed the intruder’s approach behind him before the first footstep sounded. He lifted his left hand and rested it on the hilt of his sword by his side.


“I happen to cherish the faces of my goats, though they are stubborn creatures.” 


The ale soured in his gut. “Seer.” He released his hand from his sword and continued to stare outward.


When silence greeted him, he dared to glance over his shoulder. Wariness from her all-knowing eyes reflected at Rorik, not the bitter coldness she often imparted to him. “Why have you come?” 


Ragna lifted her chin. “I have a message you must hear fully.” 


Shrugging, Rorik resumed his gaze outward. “Then speak your words.”


Again, the woman remained silent. Rorik pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.


“Do you not deem it best to put on your tunic?” she suggested, stepping closer and brushing the garment against his arm.


Slowly, Rorik lifted his head to look at her. Even her words sounded different. They were almost a plea, not filled with terse venom. A rosy stain had blossomed on her ivory cheeks, and her breathing appeared labored. He pondered two things—either his naked form disgusted her or perchance appealed to her. Surely, she despises me, nothing more.


The barb he wanted to fling out at her became trapped on his tongue. He guzzled deeply from the aleskin. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he dropped the empty skin next to his sword and swiftly got off the boulder. 


Ragna gasped and clutched his tunic to her breasts. Yet she did not avert her eyes.


He dared to move toward her. 


Her eyes widened and she stumbled back, dropping his tunic. 


Rorik reached out and grabbed her hand, preventing her from falling. The contact of her skin against his sent a tremor of warmth up his arm. This time, his breathing became labored while he stared into her gray eyes. He found no hatred there—only beauty within their depths. His gaze traveled down to her full red lips, partially open and begging to be kissed.


Release date: 6.30.21

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About the Author: 

Award-winning Celtic paranormal and fantasy romance author, Mary Morgan resides in Northern California with her own knight in shining armor. However, during her travels to Scotland, England, and Ireland, she left a part of her soul in one of these countries and vows to return.

Mary's passion for books started at an early age along with an overactive imagination. Inspired by her love for history and ancient Celtic mythology, her tales are filled with powerful warriors, brave women, magic, and romance. It wasn't until the closure of Borders Books where Mary worked that she found her true calling by writing romance. Now, the worlds she created in her mind are coming to life within her stories.


If you enjoy history, tortured heroes, and a wee bit of magic, then time-travel within the pages of her books.


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Monday, June 21, 2021

Summer Solstice

Happy Summer Solstice! What are you doing for this longest day of the year? Mondays are usually my most productive day of the week. After a weekend where I try to alter my regular routine, I’m itching to get back to normal. So I take care of my marketing, write my blog posts (!), write or edit my current works-in-progress, and clean up around the house. But today might be a little different.

For one thing, we had a busy weekend, one of our busiest since the pandemic hit. We finally had houseguests, friends from college who were in for a family event. They stayed with us, and it was so much fun catching up, hanging out, and being around people who aren’t related to us. 


The Princess came in for a whirlwind surprise 24 hours, coinciding with Father’s Day. So there was lots of laughter and talking and enjoying her presence.


And of course, it was Father’s Day. We went for a morning hike to see a beautiful gorge and series of waterfalls. Sighting a snake was an “added bonus” and one that shortened our time in the woods considerably. Then we had my parents over for a BBQ, which is always fun.


So I think today I’ll take things a little slower. Not that I’m too tired to get work done, but I don’t feel the need to madly rush around to fit everything into one day. We packed so much into one weekend that if something slips until tomorrow, that’s okay. 


Besides, we made so many great memories this weekend, I think I’m going to spend this longest day of the year relishing them just a little longer.

Wednesday, June 16, 2021

Welcome, Dan Rice

Sometimes it's hard to believe that I'm a first-time novelist. It seems like I've been writing forever––as in my entire adult life. Like many aspiring writers, I spent a long time banging out words to finally make it to the point that I have a novel coming out. Seeing your book for the first time on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Good Reads, etc., is a heady experience that I hope all budding authors will have the absolute joy to experience. I've discovered that writing the draft and mercilessly editing it to a finely crafted manuscript is only the first step, although it is the largest step, on a long journey.

Of course, there's the querying process and the innumerable rejections that go along with it. My inbox is full of rejections for my forthcoming YA urban fantasy Dragons Walk Among Us. The main thing is not to let rejection get you down. All it takes is one yes to go from the slush pile to almost published.


The next step in my publishing journey was working with my editor to level up what I had thought was already a damn good manuscript. This was actually a fun and fulfilling process. Following a skilled editor's guidance will help you polish a good manuscript into a great one. I really enjoyed experiencing Dragons Walk Among Us improve in leaps and bounds in a relatively short amount of time.


There are other things you'll do to help make your book a reality. I provided input on the cover art, which turned out even better than I ever imagined. I spent a lot of time going back-and-forth with my editor on my novel's blurb and tagline. This was an interesting process. The blurb and especially the tagline emphasize aspects of the story I hadn't even included in the early draft of the blurb. It’s cool to learn how other people see your work.


Then there is the promotion. As a first-time author, I didn't know what this would entail. Luckily, it's not rocket science, but it does take time and that means you need good time management because the best move for any author is to write the next book. The promotion aspect is daunting and, to my surprise, can be fulfilling too. For example, Dragons Walk Among Us received a five-star review from Readers' Favorite ( I remember opening the email for my very first review and fearing it would say my book is horrible. You can't imagine my HUGE relief to discover it was positive.


My biggest takeaway from being a first-time author is that publication is not a destination; it's just another way station on the authorial journey. To have continued success, you need perseverance and positivity, and most importantly, you need to bang out the next book.


Dan has wanted to write novels since first reading Frank Herbert’s Dune at the age of eleven. A native of the Pacific Northwest, he often goes hiking with his family through mist-shrouded forests and along alpine trails with expansive views. 

Dragons Walk Among Us is his debut novel. He plans to keep writing fantasy and science-fiction for many years. You can explore his blog at 

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Shutterbug Allison Lee is trying to survive high school while suffering the popular girl's abuse. Her life is often abysmal, but at least her green hair is savage. Her talent for photography is recognized by the school paper and the judges of a photo contest.

While visiting her friend Joe, a homeless vet, Allison's life irrevocably changes after an attack leaves her blind. All her dreams as a photojournalist are dashed as she realizes she'll never see again. Despair sets in until she is offered an experimental procedure to restore her vision. But there are side effects, or are they hallucinations? She now sees dragons accompanying some of the people she meets. Can she trust her eyes, or has the procedure affected her more than she can see?



            An oddly familiar beeping wakes me. I shift my cramped body. Ouch. Moving makes me feel like I’m slamming my head against a brick wall. Ugh. I’m lying down on a soft, cushy surface. Fabric covers me. Bedsheets? I’m in bed? How in the world did I end up in bed? 

            I draw in a deep breath, and my eyes flutter, never quite fully opening. A harsh scent hangs in the air like the antiseptic odor of a recently cleaned high school bathroom. Where the hell am I? 

            My eyes blink open, only something isn’t right. I don’t see anything. 




            “Help,” I say, sounding like I’m speaking with a mouthful of toffee.

I try to stay calm, but my body is reacting. Pulse reverberating. Breathing rapid. I’m so hot underneath the sheet I want to tear it aside. 

            I raise my voice. “Help!” 

            Fear slams into my brain like a baseball bat. My eyes are wide open, but all I see is the most intense darkness I’ve ever known. Absolute black.

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Monday, June 14, 2021

Empty Nest?

Our house is empty again, and will be until August. It’s weird. I thought having an empty nest would be different. Every time everyone leaves, I’m sad they’re gone, but just as I get used to it, they come back. Maybe the term is wrong. I think we need to find another. When birds leave the nest, they don’t return. 

My flock does. But this time around, there are always set times. Almost like visitors rather than my children. I’m glad they’re getting their own lives, and happy they still need us as a place to roost, if only temporarily.


But it does make me feel a little bit like a hotelier. I set dates on the calendar for who arrives and leaves when. I hope to be around to give each a proper greeting or hug goodbye, although that doesn’t always work. And during the time they are here, I try to accommodate them with their food choices and some special activities.


I’m learning, however, that some of those things are best left to them. By the time I stock up on their “favorite foods,” their preferences have changed and I’m left with food no one will eat. So I’ve added a trip to the grocery store to their itinerary so they can choose what we have in the house.


And these days, I ensure that each time they’re home, they sort through something—clothes, a junk drawer, the bookshelf—so that unwanted items can find a new home. Well, that’s what I tell them (and my husband, the pack rat). Really, I just get satisfaction from clearing out stuff, and after a lifetime in this house, there is always something they can clear out. 


So for now, we are back to being the two of us, living our lives with an eye on our phones and the calendar, waiting for the next influx, and enjoying our time together. Even if it is a little weird.

Wednesday, June 9, 2021

Welcome, Vicky Batman



For this writer, the whole world is an inspiration, particularly what someone says. I hear a bit of dialogue, and my head goes bing! For example, #2son came into my office and said, “I have a theory about love.” 

I think my eyes popped out of my head. LOL.

I held up the one-minute finger, wrote down what he said, and went to “Mom mode.” (His girlfriend had just broken up with him, and he needed his mommy’s shoulder--figuratively). The minute he left, I typed the line in a word doc. The short story “Man Theory” flowed from my fingertips. That’s magic.

In Temporarily Out of Luck, the first paragraph is all about a comparison to rats. Rats??!! That does sound icky. My head reached back to a trip to the pet store with #2 son and his friend. I heard their giggles and saw them watching a tiny rat backflipping off the top of the exercise wheel. 

Still, why rats? Hattie Cooks’ life was derailed. She feels just like the rat flying off the wheel, landing in the shavings, dust itself off, and start over again. 

Sometimes, I felt like a small white mouse housed in a cage with lots of small white mice, whose playground activities involved eating, sleeping, and continually revolving on the exercise wheel. Just like one rodent friend—who I named Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky, having a field day back-flipping from the top of the spinning wheel—something happened. Unexpectedly, I found myself airborne. Not hurt, a sense of disappointment overcame me, plus a bit of confusion, and a whole lot of colorful adjectives too numerous to list. I, mostly known as Hattie Cooks, shook off the pine shavings and joined the rat race. Sometimes, life sucked.


Great job. What man? And murder.
 Newly employed at Wedding Wonderland, Hattie Cooks is learning the industry from a woman she greatly admires. When her former brother-in-law is found dead in his luxury SUV, all fingers point to Hattie’s sister, who is planning her own I Dos.

Detective Allan Wellborn is caught between a rock and a hard place—Hattie’s family and investigating the murder of a well-connected Sommerville resident, the same loser who was once married to Hattie’s sister. Determining who’s the bad guy—or gal—isn’t going to be easy and sure to piss off someone.

Can Hattie beat the clock to find out who murdered Tracey’s ex before she is charged with the crime and her wedding is ruined?



In my Book of Debts, I didn’t owe him one iota. However, I could hear my mother in my ear, trotting out a page from the “Right Thing to Do” lecture. What Stuart’s mom did broke all wedding protocol, and Allan doing his saintly thing told her he would help, which translated meant he desperately needed somebody else’s help.

“Fine. I’m in, but you owe me more, like a date to the”—I grasped on the first thing that popped in my head—“opera.”

“Opera? Since when do you like opera?”

I held back a giggle. “Since yesterday.”

Allan blew a huge sigh. “Done.” He paused. “Opera?”


Author bio: Funny, sweet, and quirky, Vicki Batman’s stories are full of her hallmark humor, romance, and will delight all readers. She has sold many award-winning and bestselling romantic comedy works to magazines and most recently, three humorous romantic mysteries. An avid Jazzerciser. Handbag lover. Mahjong player. Yoga practitioner. Movie fan. Book devourer. Cat fancier. Best Mom ever. And adores Handsome Hubby.


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Monday, June 7, 2021

It's One of Those Days

Some days writing sucks. The words don’t flow, the characters don’t talk to me, and I can’t see them in my head.

Some days being an author is discouraging. Your pitching fails and publishers say no thanks. Sales lag, reviews don’t come in, and the contests you’ve been waiting on award everyone but you (or so it seems).


This business is hard. And it is a business, despite the looks of scorn some of my less educated acquaintances give me when they hear what I do. Some days, like today, I’m ready to give up.


But I see others who have given up, and when I hear the news, my stomach clenches and I want to say, “No, don’t!” Because maybe, they’re giving up too soon. And maybe there’s something good coming right around the corner. That tells me I’m not ready, even if they are.


Still, it’s hard trying to justify doing this day in and day out for such little reward and such a lot of anxiety and discouragement.


So, if you’re an author going through this, you’re not alone. If you’re a reader, be kind and supportive. And hey, maybe throw a review our way (if we can write 300 pages, you can probably handle “It was entertaining.”).

Wednesday, June 2, 2021

Welcome Back, Pam Thibodeaux

 My Heart (still) Weeps…..


In 2010 I remarked to a gentleman how much I appreciated him. “I feel your love for me radiate through every fiber of my being and my heart weeps because I’m just not ready….”

My very next thought was…. that sounds like the title for a book! I started writing this story in 2011 and it took eight (8!) years to complete – it was just too up-close and personal to get through all at once.

Published August 18th, 2020 (eleven years to the day my husband passed away), My Heart Weeps parallels my journey through grief into new life. Even though you may learn to live -and even love again- after losing your soul mate, I’ve found (for me anyway) your heart is never quite the same and although I’ve moved forward (I don’t feel we ever completely “move on”) and am living life to the fullest, my heart still weeps. 

I guess it always will.


Fun facts about My Heart Weeps:

Yes, there really is a Utopia, TX. About 30 miles North/West of Bandera and as Melena works at the Crossed Penn Ranch in Utopia, I lived and worked at the Silver Spur Ranch in Bandera. SSR is not an “artists retreat” but a guest ranch. I worked in housekeeping and in the kitchen and even as a drag (back up) wrangler on trail rides.

The descriptions of the area are pretty accurate and drawn from memory. I’ve actually hiked in the Lost Maples Natural Area.

Deer are prominent in the Hill Country, especially rural areas like Bandera and Utopia. It is not unusual to see a huge herd in your yard. I’ve even seen children playing chase with them!

Horseback riding is one of my favorite things to do when possible. There really is nothing more soothing than the clip-clop of hooves on rock. Try it sometime.





Blurb: After thirty years married to the man of her dreams, Melena Rhyker is devastated by her husband's death. Relief comes in the form of an artist's retreat at the Crossed Penn ranch in Utopia, TX. She rediscovers a forgotten dream as her artistic talent flourishes into that of a gallery-worthy artist. Will she have the courage to follow the path she was destined to travel?


Garrett Saunders has been on the run most of his life. Abused and abandoned as a child, he escapes the clutches of a past filled with pain and shame and hides from his calling as a Native American healer. His years as a CIA agent aid in overcoming his childhood and honing his talent and skill as a fine art photographer. 


Follow their journey as two people who come from totally different backgrounds, but share gifts of gigantic proportions, find meaning and purpose in the Texas Hill Country.


Excerpt: With the energy of a wet noodle, she eased out of the sauna, rinsed the sweat off her skin, and tied the sarong around her waist. She tossed the damp towel over her shoulders, put on her sandals and headed to her room to shower and change. Fresh fruit and pastries left over from breakfast lay spread out at the buffet like a feast for the famished. Melena filled a plate and had taken two steps toward the stairs when Anne Penn entered the room flanked by a handsome hunk of man Melena hadn’t seen before.

“Hi, Melena. I’d like you to meet Garrett, our new part-time wrangler, part-time maintenance man.”

Eyes the color of Texas bluebonnets swept over her in a gaze as potent as a caress, then locked with hers. A dimple danced in the cowboy’s cheek when he tipped his hat and grinned. 

“Ma’am,” he drawled.

Melena tugged the ends of her towel together and down over her skimpily clad bosom, muttered a quick hello, and escaped. Racing up the stairs as fast as possible on legs that wobbled, she entered her room, all but dropped the plate on her nightstand, and sat down onto the bed.

Never had she felt the pure sexual punch of such raw masculinity in a single look.


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Author bio: Award-winning author, Pamela S. Thibodeaux is the Co-Founder and a lifetime member of Bayou Writers Group in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Multi-published in romantic fiction as well as creative non-fiction, her writing has been tagged as, “Inspirational with an Edge!” ™ and reviewed as “steamier and grittier than the typical Christian novel without decreasing the message.” Sign up to receive Pam’s newsletter and get a FREE short story!



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PS: In case you’re wondering, the gentleman who inspired the title and I are not together today. But I am forever grateful for the blessing he was in my life. He showed me I could, and should, love again. 😊