Kara O'Neal

Wednesday Words: Lady Twisden's Picture Perfect Match by Alina K. Field

5/18/2022

Alina K. Field is visiting today to share her latest release, a sweet Regency novella, Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match in a new anthology of stories called Desperate Daughters: A Bluestocking Belles Collection With Friends.

This collection of novellas by nine Regency romance authors is a perfect opportunity to sample some new-to-you storytellers. The stories are set around a central premise, a family of all daughters, left destitute by their late father, the earl of Seahaven.

Desperate Daughters: A Bluestocking Collection With Friends

The Earl of Seahaven desperately wanted a son and heir but died leaving nine daughters and a fifth wife. Cruelly turned out by the new earl, they live hand-to-mouth in a small cottage.

The young dowager Countess’s one regret is that she cannot give Seahaven’s dear girls a chance at happiness.

When a cousin offers the use of her townhouse in York during the season, the Countess rallies her stepdaughters.

They will pool their resources so that the youngest marriageable daughters might make successful matches, thereby saving them all.

So they start their adventures in York amid a whirl of balls, lectures, and al fresco picnics. Is it possible each of them might find love by the time the York horse races bring the season to a close?

But it’s not just daughters finding romance…

Not everyone who finds love is a daughter. The earl’s young widow finds her own happily-ever-after. And my heroine, Lady Twisden, is a widowed aunt who learns that following her passion for painting doesn’t mean sacrificing love.

Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match

He’s not just a perfect image of a soul-stirring hero, but a perfect-for-her match.

After years of tolerating her late husband’s rowdy friends, Honoria, Lady Twisden, has escaped to York where she can paint, investigate antiquities, and enjoy freedom. Then her stepson appears with a relative in tow, the perfect image of a long-ago relation whose fierce portrait made her shiver with mad imaginings.

Promised York’s marriage mart and the hospitality of his cousin’s doddering stepmother, Major August Kellborn is shocked to find that his fetching hostess is the one woman who stirs his heart. To win her heart, however, he must convince her he’s her perfect match.

Lady Twisden’s Picture Perfect Match: An Excerpt

“Where is the footman? We need him to fetch in our trunks.”

We?

Looking past the broad shoulder she saw another figure approaching and…

Good God. Heat swamped her and flamed in her cheeks. Dark eyes shot darts at her over a grimly set, thin-lipped mouth. The palpable sternness of Wes’s companion sent a shiver of awareness through her. It was a familiar shiver, one she’d indulged during her tedious days at Twisden Manor when she’d found herself fighting off mad imaginings.

Wes’s laughter shook her tongue loose. “My goodness, sir,” she said. “You bear an uncanny resemblance to—”

“Old Ebenezer Twisden,” Wes said. “Yes, it is as if the old Warden has come back to life, Mother. As soon as I laid eyes on him in Brampton, I knew he must be a relation. And do you know who he is, Mother?” He laughed again.

“I’ve written to Granny to tell her. She’ll be in alt when she reads the news.”

A man of perhaps forty, he was about the same age as Wes’s ancestor, the Warden in the painting at Twisden Hall who’d been in the King’s service for many years when that portrait was done. This new incarnation of Ebenezer wasn’t a particularly tall man, not as tall as Wes, but he still towered over her.

Old Ebenezer cleared his throat.

“But of course,” Wes said. “Where are my manners? Mother, may I present my cousin, Major Augustus Kellborn. Gus, this is my dear stepmother, Lady Twisden.”

While she curtsied, managing not to wobble, he dipped his head, never taking his gaze away.

Good holy heavens.

PURCHASE DESPARATE DAUGHTERS: A BLUESTOCKING COLLECTION WITH FRIENDS

BIO: ALINA K. FIELD

USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature but prefers the happier world of romance fiction. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California where she shares a midcentury home with a golden-eyed terrier.

Website: https://alinakfield.com/

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Wednesday Words: Felicity's Fortune by Kara O'Neal

5/10/2022

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I could hardly wait for the second book in my Gamblers and Gunslingers series – FELICITY’S FORTUNE – to release!

When we visited St. Joseph, Missouri, we had to stop at Jesse James’ house. While I was walking through those rooms, I wondered about his wife.

She’d set up a house, cooked meals, raised children…and her husband was an outlaw. She knew what he was, and that surprised me. Of course, who knew how she felt about his choices, and I’m sure it was hard to leave him since she loved him.

But I thought…what if she hadn’t known? What if a woman had married a man who was an outlaw, and she discovered it…

And turned him in.

So…FELICITY’S FORTUNE was born.

I had to give her a mighty hero, and so Butch Wilder grew in my mind’s eye. And he’s a good one. He had to be a little sinful, though, but he’s got a big, big, big heart!

I loved writing this story. Felicity’s daughters are the cutest little things.

I also enjoyed sending Felicity to Hell’s Half Acre, because God bless Texas, but that place was scary. It belonged in a book.

You know, that’s the best thing about being an author. You get to put cool places, events and people in your books.

I hope y’all enjoy Felicity and Butch’s story as much as I did! Happy reading!

FELICITY'S FORTUNE
Gamblers & Gunslingers
Historical Romance

Felicity Capwell Archer had no idea she'd married a thief and a killer. And even though she's the one who turns him in, people still think she helped her former husband steal and is now hiding the money. To protect herself from the repercussions and attacks, she hires Butch Wilder. Gambler. Gunslinger. And a giant who hides a heart of gold.

Butch Wilder grew up on the streets of New Orleans, learning how to fight, how to gamble and how to use a Colt .45 with deadly precision. When Felicity begs him to protect her family, she's too damned pretty and too intriguing to turn down. Determined to avoid any emotional attachments and to keep it purely professional, Butch takes the job. But he finds himself sitting down to nice meals, walking her children to school and being part of a family for the first time.

Only by finding and returning the stolen loot can Felicity and her daughters ever truly be safe. Following clues she deciphers from her former husband’s letters, Felicity and Butch travel to the outlaw-infested Hell's Half Acre. It's madness, but Butch will do anything to protect Felicity. Even if it means his life.

FELICITY'S FORTUNE: AN EXCERPT

When Butch reached Rickman’s office, he tried to see through the windows to the inside, but the grimy panes allowed for nothing. Cautious but unafraid, he walked in without hesitation.

But when he found who had come calling, he about swallowed his tongue. He stopped short, his hand on the knob, his mind devoid of all thought.

“Are you Mr. Wilder?”

Her honey voice poured through him, grabbing hold of his senses.

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work, sir, but I’m looking for Mr. Butch Wilder. Are you he?”

Snap out of it, man! Butch blinked then cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Yes. I’m Butch Wilder.” He shut the door.

She looked him over.

He steeled himself against the fear he might see in her eyes due to his size, but when her gaze touched his face, what he found was desperation. Confused and a little nervous, he wrapped his thumbs around his suspenders.

“Do you know who I am?”

Would it upset her if he did? But he couldn’t lie to her. Somehow she’d know if he did. “Yes.”

She twitched her lips as if frustrated by her infamy. He couldn’t blame her.

After letting out a slow exhale, she said, “My home, and by that I really refer to my children, my housekeeper and myself, has been under attack since my former husband was arrested and tried.”

So…she had gotten divorced. Or was it an annulment? He stayed quiet, not knowing what she wanted or if he was allowed to respond.

“We need constant protection until this is settled.” She waved a hand in the air. “Until either the…the hanging or…” She paused, and her gaze went distant.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. What bothered her? The event she hadn’t mentioned or the hanging?

She shook her head. “I apologize. The last weeks have been rather harrowing.”

He could imagine. From the arrest, to the trial, to now…

A portion of what she’d said registered in his mind. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But why are you here? You mentioned…protection?” Hell. Was she going to ask him to…

“Yes. The sheriff’s office can’t provide anyone, so he suggested I hire you.”

Butch’s mind whirled with the implications.

“I will pay you well, plus meals, because I would prefer it if you moved into my home. People come at all times of the day and night. I’m fearful of what has occurred in my absence for the last few hours.” She pressed two fingers to her temple and rubbed. “Not that I can do anything about it,” she muttered. She let out a weary exhale.

While she struggled with exhaustion, he tried to make sense of what she was offering. It was ridiculous. Him? Butch Wilder? Protect her? And her family?

Hell. That was damned laughable.

PURCHASE FELICITY'S FORTUNE

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Monday Memories: No Thimble For Me

5/9/2022

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My small town near the San Jacinto River didn't have much in the way of commerce. A few restaurants, a Weiner's, Michael's, and...um...

Well, I can't really remember anything else. Oh! There was a hardware store called "Handy Dan's". I can't remember if the movie theater was already here. We sure didn't have a mall. And we really only had one grocery store.

But, I have a VERY vivid memory of one place. It's called Cloth World. And you can probably tell by its name what it was.

In case you can't, let me paint you a picture...

Fabric. Everywhere. Lace everywhere. RIBBONS everywhere.

Drawers and drawers and drawers of patterns. Books upon books upon books of different styles of dresses, rompers, pants, vests...

Good gosh, the list goes on. And on. Forever. Neverending.

It took sooooo long to find the style, then she had to find the pattern, and then the material, and then the notions.

Do you know what notions are? Hmmm? I do!

Notions are the buttons and the zippers and the ribbons and the trim.

And do you think it stops there?

No, it doesn't, because guess what? We still have to buy the right thread!

We spent hours and hours and hours there. Life whittled away. Daylight turned to dusk. It was agony. Like nails being driven into my forehead. Or math drills.

And let me tell you something else...

My little town is kind of big now. We have a mall and multiple movie theaters and lots of restaurants -- we actually have the most Mexican restaurants in the state of Texas -- and two Walmarts and two Targets and, well, you get the picture. Businesses have come and gone. They've moved to bigger buildings. They've gone belly-up.

But NOT Cloth World. It's still there. In the SAME PLACE. It's called Joann's now, but it's STILL there.

Thankfully, the "Big Idea" girls can't drag me in there anymore. I have my own car. And I DON'T sew. I refuse. They can have their Crochet Club, their Wine and Knitting Club, their Stitch and B@#$! Club.

Me...I'm good. I sit on my couch...NOT sewing.

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Monday Memories: God Bless America

5/2/2022

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After the almost tragedy of being held back a grade, I spent Memorial weekend at my aunt Evaline's house. We had food and swimming and card-playing and dominoes and ice cream and volleyball and all sorts of other good things worthy of my time.

My cousins and I were everywhere. Upstairs. Downstairs. Outside. In the pool.

There was kid stuff everywhere. (Now that I am a parent, I can imagine the nightmare that all was.)

The ladies took care of the food. And the cleaning.

The men took care of the dominoes and the cards and the sitting and the eating.

You can imagine this made my mother feel just peachy.

I'm running around and having a good time. My dad is sitting and having a good time. Until...

It was time to leave. Well, that was a joy-killer if there ever was one. I start to huff and puff, but I go off to gather my things and my siblings.

But my dad just keeps taking care of the sitting.

So, my mom says, "Are you gonna help me?"

And my dad says, "Well, you look like you got it under control."

And my mother says, "Well, God bless America $#*!"

And without missing a beat, my dad sings, "God bless America, land that I love..."

My mother stomps up the stairs while my dad keeps singing. (He did get up and help, though.)

This is me and my dad. He's a cutie. And a keeper. I love him! And my mom does, too!

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Monday Memories: My Hero?

4/25/2022

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I wasn't present for what I'm about to relate. Everything you read is from my imagination, so...I added a little drama...just for your enjoyment. (Or is it mine?)

When: Spring 1984
Where: A conference room at an elementary school
Who: A principal, a note-taker, my mother, and Mrs. Marshall (my teacher)

"We have the results of all the testing we did for your daughter," the note-taker announces. "While she is a smart young lady, she struggles to pay attention and complete tasks. She is more concerned with social things and has difficulty disciplining herself to learn."

"And what does this mean?" my mother asks.

The principal leans forward and links her hands as she sets them on the long, narrow table, "It means she is going to need more support in order to learn. She has a disability that is keeping her from rising to her full potential."

Mrs. Marshall refrains from sighing and instead smooths her bouffant. Her wrinkled face is carefully powdered, her eyebrows artfully brushed and plucked to create the perfect arch. Her turquoise silk blouse is neatly tucked into her beige slacks, and a gold necklace is clasped around her neck. She counts to ten in her head and waits.

"Disability?" my mother prods. "And that is?"

"All the testing shows your daughter has ADHD, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder." The note-taker busily scribbles all that is said as she continues. "It can be controlled with medicine, and you'll need to speak to your pediatrician. Learning is possible for her, but it will always be difficult for her to sustain the necessary attention required. There are supports we can put into place that will help her during class, but medicine will really provide the foundation."

My mother's brow furrows, and Mrs. Marshall takes note.

"What are the side affects of medicine?" The uncertainty in my mother's tone is simple to detect.

"Oh," the principal makes a dismissive gesture, "that depends on the type, but usually they are minimal and the help the drug can provide outweighs the cost."

My mother taps a thoughtful finger on the table. "I'm not sure I-"

"There is another issue to consider," the note-taker interjects. "Kara hasn't achieved the progress and growth necessary to move on to fourth grade."

My mother rears back. "She has passed all her subjects so far." She turns questioning eyes onto Mrs. Marshall.

Mrs. Marshall prepares herself for battle, squaring her shoulders. "Yes, she has demonstrated appropriate understanding of all academic areas. It's true she has difficulty attending, but somehow she manages to learn what is needed. Eventually."

My mother looks back at the note-taker whose gapes at Mrs. Marshall.

"I think what we're actually referring to is her social and emotional growth," the principal adds. "School is not Kara's forte. What usually hurts her are the demands learning puts on her. When you couple that with the complexities of forming friendships with her peers, all of it causes her emotional distress. You can see her sadness and confusion."

"Humph," Mrs. Marshall breaks in. "And forcing her to repeat third grade will make her happier?"

"It will give her the opportunity to mature, and perhaps she'll find friends more her style." The note-taker has paused in her scribbling.

Mrs. Marshall leans forward, raising her brow at the woman who has spent only a few days with the student. "Kara struggles with her peers because she doesn't tolerate meanness. She has an astounding imagination and creates perfectly beautiful stories. Math isn't her love, but she manages. She is a singer and a lover. She believes in flying and jumping in mud puddles." Mrs. Marshall turns to my mother. "If you agree to make Kara repeat third grade, you will crush her spirit. She won't understand and will take it too much to heart. She is a sensitive girl. It's true she needs to mature, but that will come. She will be fine. She's her own person and will get all her ducks in a row when she's good and ready."

My mother is staring at Mrs. Marshall. The principal and note-taker have gone quiet.

Pride swells inside Mrs. Marshall as she can still hear the air ringing with her passionate speech. After twenty-five years of teaching, she knew how to analyze a child. She wasn't wrong.

After a few tense and silent moments, my mother turns to the other ladies. "Thank you for your hard work, but I'll not agree to retention, nor will I agree to the results of the testing. I prefer to wait, to see how she does."

And that was that.

Mrs. Marshall, my third grade teacher, saved me from repeating a grade and spending an extra year in school. She was the hero I never knew I always wanted.

I can't believe it. A teacher. A hero.

Appalling!

But, it really did happen. Not quite that way, of course, but she did say that retention would crush my spirit. Even if everyone else had agreed with her -- and they must have -- that's drama I never expected from someone like Mrs. Marshall. She was so concerned with Math. Yuck.

But I'll let her like it since she literally saved me.

I wish I'd gotten to thank her.

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Monday Memories: Patterns and Pictures

4/18/2022

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An odd thing happened one day at school. This lady with a Dorothy Hamil haircut came to get me from class. I had never seen her before.

She apparently wasn't a stranger because Mrs. Marshall knew her, so I didn't put up a fuss or ask her to tell me the password.

(Due to my sharp fear of one of my siblings being kidnapped, we'd developed a password in case a stranger tried to pick us up from school. I used to narrow my eyes at passing cars and silently dare them to try to take one of us.)

Anyway, I went with this Dorothy lady willingly. She took me to a square room where she showed me all these flashcards of patterns and pictures. I had to answer a bunch of questions and recreate some of the patterns.

She had her own paper and was marking stuff on it. Her mouth moved a lot. When she would write, her lips would press into each other, then purse, then press into each other, then purse. It was weird.

But she was nice. When I finished, she told me I would have to come back for more, and I didn't mind. The work she gave me was fun. I had to put blocks together, complete sentences, add up simple problems. It was no big deal.

Or so I thought....

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Wednesday Words: Claims of the Heart by Alina K. Field

4/13/2022

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One of my most favorite authors is back! Alina K. Field is here to share her new release, CLAIMS OF THE HEART! This is a Regency Romance and continues the story of Lucie Macbeth who we got to meet in Fated Hearts. I've been looking forward to this story and already have my copy. So, please, let me introduce to the talented, Alina K. Field....

Love seems impossible, but when danger strikes, there’s no ignoring the claims of the heart.

CLAIMS OF THE HEART
Regency Romance

Since a perilous fall, Lucie Macbeth has been seeing more than a settled future as the heiress to a Scottish barony. The visions plaguing her include a man—one far above her class and breeding, and English to boot. He’s engaged to a duke’s granddaughter as well, and thus wholly inappropriate. Though she can’t marry him, and she won’t become any man’s leman, when the Sight warns her of danger to him, her conscience, and her heart tell her she can’t walk away.

Since his return from Waterloo, Major Lord Rudgwick has been rusticating in the country teaching himself how to live as a man with only one hand and pondering how to end the engagement he contracted before his world turned upside down. But then a letter arrives from an old army comrade, requesting Rudgwick’s aid for his daughter, Lucie Macbeth, the woman he met one year earlier, the woman whose claims on his heart he can’t deny.

CLAIMS OF THE HEART: AN EXCERPT

Across the theater from Lucie, a braw, dark-haired man, as tall and straight as the duke, stood in his grace’s box, a young lady upon his arm.

Drawn like a giddy moth, she lifted her chin and met his gaze, bridging the yawning space, watching his mouth soften into the quizzical half-grin he displayed to such advantage.

Tristan Hamilton Howton, Major Lord Rudgwick, was, in fact, in London, in the flesh. He was here and looked ready and willing to annoy her. He looked hearty, healthy and well too; not at all impaired. As fully recovered from his injury as a man who’d lost a hand might be.

She let out a breath. She’d wondered how he’d fared after she and her parents left him in Brussels. Mother parsed the news she received in letters from Lady Rudgwick, and Lucie was too proud to ask after him.
She was glad to see him looking so well. Now she must simply keep the chasm between them as wide as the pit of this theater. Easy enough to do, given their different social circles.

He wasn’t in uniform tonight, yet he’d still make hearts flutter, and the cocky smile said he knew it. Wide shoulders filled out the elegant dark coat, and strong thighs the legs of his trousers. He was, after all, a horseman, a cavalry officer with a stable of the finest horses.

With a quiet breath she attempted to quell her pounding heart, to blot out the seductive smile that she saw over and over in stirring visions of a future that could not be, that must not be.

She mustered a bored, how-annoying tone. “Rudgwick is here.”

PURCHASE CLAIMS OF THE HEART

Alina K. Field

USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature but prefers the happier world of romance fiction. Her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., but after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California where she shares a midcentury home with a gold-eyed terrier and only occasionally misses snow.

Website: https://alinakfield.com/
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Monday Memories: Multiplication

4/11/2022

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$Picture$

So my friends left. They moved to farthest reaches of the world. I'm devastated.

There's a knife in my heart and it's twisting and twisting and twisting, and so guess what else?

My teacher decides we need to learn multiplication.

Oh. My. God.

It's torture. It's mind-numbing. And everyone gets it but me.

I have to memorize numbers. Numbers.

What is the point? Why must she make us go through this agony of patterns that hold no meaning?

I sit at my desk, staring daggers at a succession of multiplication problems, while everyone's pencils are scraping busily on their papers.

Well, I choose not to do them, and instead I pretend to work and draw pictures along the side. Mrs. Marshall stands at the board, writing out the plans for the next subject, and she never notices. She trusts we're all obediently multiplying.

See how sneaky I am? See how smart? I managed to avoid Math. I think I'll try it again tomorrow!

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Monday Memories: A Great Tragedy

4/4/2022

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As a third grader, there were things that frightened me.

Teachers.
School.
Grades.
A lost ball.
Brussel sprouts.
Stewed tomatoes.
Pink.
Sharks.
Kidnappings.

But the absolute worst, the one that kept me up nights and made me all kinds of sad was a $5 dollar word of which most third graders had never heard.

Transfer.

Yep, that's the word. The awful, horrific, life-altering terror that ruined everything.

It was a plague that accosted me, wrapped its cold fingers around my heart, ripped it out and crushed it into a powder.

My friends -- Liam, Grace, Georgie, Phillip, and Andrew -- were MOVING.

Because of a "transfer". Liam's job was making him move to Seattle. Half-way across the world where they didn't have Blue Bell or anything else good.

We lost our friends, our confidantes, our partners.

We took them to the airport. There were tears and hugs and I had hope that someone would come running at the last second to say they didn't have to go.

But that didn't happen. They boarded and left, and it was one of the saddest moments of my life.

My fellow redhead, Miss Grace, was gone. And her boys were gone. I cannot tell you how it hurt.

When we got home, my mom started a campaign. She stuck an envelope on the avocado green refrigerator door with the words "Seattle Fund" on the front.

I raced to my room and took every last cent out of my electric blue E.T. vinyl wallet and put it in the envelope.

I prayed and prayed and prayed we'd visit.

But...we never got there.

A life lesson that sometimes God says no.

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Monday Memories: The Flip Heard 'Round The Third Grade

3/28/2022

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So....

I had started living up to the phrase " a piece of my mind". I had no fear practicing it and standing up for what I thought was right.

And one day, I had had enough...

We were in class, working at those desks that had the spots for tote trays. I sat on the end of a row that faced the desks in the center of the classroom. The "bully" sat in the row opposite me also facing the center.

I can't remember what he did to cause the upcoming event, and neither does my mother. But I'm sure he'd made fun of somebody. Or threatened someone. He liked to do that a lot. He liked to make people feel inferior to him, and my heart could not stand for that.

So, I yelled at him. Across the classroom.

Apparently, he'd had enough of my reprimands and, before the teacher could stop him, raced toward me. I was still telling him off, unafraid of his menacing face and figure.

He didn't holler back. He just flipped me and my desk over.

Now, my school had those collapsible walls, and they were all pushed back. So four classrooms ceased working when I went flying.

No one moved. Everyone thought I was dead.

But then, out of the wreckage, I shot to my feet, my roar greater than he could handle. I shook my finger at him. I told him he was mean. I demanded he do better. And I showed him that no matter what he did to me, I would NOT back down.

We were both carted to the principal's office. He got a spanking. I got a talking-to.

My mother was shocked, but not too much. She asked why I only got a lecture. My teacher said, "Because we teachers were silently cheering her on."

And that was that.

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