Fellow readers, I want to share a book with you that I've been really excited about! PATCHES OF RED by Liz Flaherty released earlier this month. It's Contemporary Women's Fiction that's been "wrapped around a love story". This story is a part of Ms. Flaherty's Color Series, which started with PIECES OF BLUE.

She's visiting us this week to tell us more about this wonderful book!

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Patches of Red - Excerpt

“I hope you didn’t mind that I—” She looked up to get out of the man’s way and to finally meet his eyes.

The most gorgeous green eyes she’d ever seen. They had little flecks of brown in them, and she’d bet if he wore a brown shirt, they’d would look hazel even though they weren’t. They were pure, mesmerizing jade.

And he wasn’t old. Well, the grandkids would think he was, but what did they know? She hoped her jaw didn’t drop, as it would add jowls to her already slightly double chin. But Jesse Grant was definitely worthy of jaw-dropping and jowls.

He was probably an inch or two over six feet, with darkish brown hair and a short, neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. A small gold stud twinkled from his left ear and a thin scar ran around his jawline from his earlobe to his chin. It made him look … dangerous.

She was finding danger in a guy wearing a tails-out button down shirt with dark blue shorts and holding a bar towel that proclaimed it was a gift from Bent Twig Brewery. While it was true she was a devoted reader of romantic and women’s fiction novels, she very seldom saw their protagonists in real life. However, other than the towel and what looked like a permanent frown on his face, Jess totally fit the bill. 

“How old are you?’ she blurted, because he wasn’t old, and she was still trying to get her mind around that.

“Fifty-six,” he said, the frown deepening. “How old are you?”

“Fifty-three.” It would be fifty-four in a few weeks, but she wasn’t going to hurry into it.

His voice was the culprit. Although it was a nice voice … deep … there was a rustiness to it that lent it more age than it had earned.

“I’ll bet when you sing, you sound like Rod Stewart.” The pie was delicious and the coffee was no less so. Maybe she could eat here all the time once she found a place to live. Not that she had any intention of staying either on the lake or in Placer. She liked both places, but she knew she would miss things like Walmart and Tom’s Food Market, her shopping mainstays.

“More like Rod Stewart’s cat,” said Jess, and she nearly spewed her coffee. She hadn’t expected that response, although she wasn’t surprised by the enduring scowl that went with it. 

He stepped away, talking to the men at the bar and uncapping another beer for one of them.

Ellie finished her pie and coffee, then took her dishes back to the kitchen. She was there to be the help, not be waited on. She introduced herself to Nancy, the cook, then went back into the dining room. “See you tomorrow,” she said to Avery, and nodded at Jess.

​He nodded back, then gave a short, beckoning whistle that stopped her as she walked away. She turned, frowning. “Yes?”

“What’s your name again?”

“Ellie Wentz.”

“Okay. I’ll have your paperwork in the morning. Do you have any questions?”

​“Not now.” She would wait to tell him she wouldn’t always answer to a hey, you whistle. As a matter of fact, she’d just done it for the last time. If she hadn’t been rude enough to ask him how old he was right out of the acquaintance gate, there wouldn’t even have been a first time. 

“Patches of Red is a brilliant blend of women’s fiction and slow burn romance that opens hearts, rearranges families, but ultimately brings them together in a deeply satisfying way. People deserve the best life has to offer and readers will find what they seek in Patches of Red. Loved this book!” – Author Bonnie Edwards
 
“This slow--burn story will warm your heart. With her special gift for finding the exact right words to tell a story, Flaherty once again makes us believe in second chances and true love!” – Author Nan Reinhardt
 
“Readers get to meet Ellie and Jesse’s family members and neighbors, who are unique, relatable, and feel like friends. The setting is a charming place we’d all like to visit—or maybe live in … Snuggle up with this book for an escape from your every day. Just know that once you become familiar with its diner, walks along the lake, and the quilting ladies, you’ll be reluctant to leave. – Author Cathy Shouse
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“This book gave me "all the feels," which included shedding a few good tears. It combines the depth of women's fiction with the sweetness of a romance. I love that it shows that family life can be messy, and that that's OK.” – Author R. M. Brooks 

BLUEBONNET FIELDS

​At the noon hour the next day, while leaning against a tree trunk and eating more canned fruit and jerky, the lawman approached her.

He smiled politely.

She annoyingly noticed the dimples in his cheeks. She didn’t return his greeting.

“Feeling better yet?” he ventured to ask.

She gave him a look.

​He chuckled lightly, then took a bite of his jerky. “Still planning an escape?”

“If I were, do you think I’d tell you?”

With a shrug, he took another bite.

An idea struck her. If he was wondering about her running off, then he might watch her more closely. She needed to disabuse him of that notion. “I have no possible way to travel safely. Going on foot would be suicide.”

As she bit into a slice of peach, he studied her carefully.

She let him take her measure.

When he turned back to his food, she asked, “I guess you believe me?”

“I do. You seem like an intelligent woman and not given to rash decisions.”

Triumph surged within her. “I appreciate the confidence.”

He finished off his jerky, then said, “It’s why I’m reasonably certain you didn’t marry Cuthbert.”

Shocked, she let go of her fork, and the metal clanged against the tin. “You believe me?”

He gave her a look. “I said reasonably certain.”

“Still. If you have some doubts, why are you taking me to Galveston against my will?”

He lifted one eyebrow at her.

Her ire increased. “For the money?” She abhorred greedy people.

With a grin playing at his lips, he said, “It matters, yes. It took me some time to find you, plus the cost of the journey. Had to rent the mule.” He shrugged. “But the main reason is I was pretty sure if I didn’t find you, another bastard might. You don’t like me, and I can’t blame you, but of the men I know who are probably on your trail, I’m the nicest of the bunch.”

She had no way to dispute him, and since he hadn’t physically hurt her, he was proving his claim. “Still…instead of dragging me to Galveston, you should be telling a judge or some other official that Edgar is a liar.”

The Deputy Sheriff laughed lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. “Ma’am, I had no opinion when I started out. Once I laid eyes on you at Harvey House in Slaton, that’s when I had second thoughts about the accusation made against you.”

As she took in his reply, she speared another peach with her fork. What did he mean by that? What did he see in her that was giving him doubts? Instead of asking, she bit into the fruit.

There was silence as she chewed, and she felt his eyes on her. What was he looking at?

He broke the quiet with, “A woman like you wouldn’t accept a man like Cuthbert.”

She whipped her gaze to his. What did that mean? But she kept her mouth clamped shut. She wasn’t fishing for compliments or his opinion on her character. It really didn’t matter to her what he thought.

But the lawman only grinned wider, as if he understood better than she why she was swallowing her curiosity.

And then he winked at her.

​And walked away.

"The casual tragedy of everyday life in rural Texas in the 1800s is unapologetically displayed as an example of the way things were for many. Life has always been fragile, and it is up to the individual not just whether he survives but how. The book starts with our heroine, a Harvey Girl, being dragged off to answer charges of being a runaway wife. That her captor is the hero goes without saying, and you get a travelogue with highlights of the Texas that I have certainly traveled through more than once, including dancing at the saloon in Gruene, and enjoying the Waterfront of Galveston, a century later. And especially the bluebonnets! Enjoy!"

-- Amazon Reviewer

"Kara has such an amazing story telling method of revealing not only the plot of her stories, but allowing you to live in the scene with the characters. She writes with the heart of a true storyteller."

-- Amazon Reviewer

"Me. O'Neal is simply a good story teller. Yes, one knows it's a romance novel and so, one knows the ending will be a happy one. Thank goodness! In a world fraught with so many tragedies, it's nice to spend time escaping it. That said, she does write in ups and downs that keep the story very interesting. Plus, she adds twists just about the time you think you've figured out where she's going. I truly loved her prose for the prologue. Being a Texan, I had no trouble feeling that day in the bonnet field and what it meant to be there. Well done."

​-- Amazon Reviewer

"Bluebonnet Fields by Kara O'Neal is a delightful historical romance filled with humor, heart, and irresistible chemistry. Set against the vibrant backdrop of 1890s Texas, the story pairs a fiercely independent heroine with a determined deputy sheriff whose unwavering devotion makes for an engaging slow-burn romance. O'Neal crafts memorable characters, witty banter, and emotional depth while exploring themes of trust, healing, and second chances. Rich in Western charm and heartfelt moments, Bluebonnet Fields is a thoroughly enjoyable read for fans of historical romance."

-- Amazon Reviewer

EVALINE'S GRIT

Something hammered at the back of his head. He groaned and rose, but a gentle touch pressed his shoulder.

“Don’t try to move too fast.”

Alarm flashed up his spine, and his eyes shot open. His breath caught when he found an angel hovering over him. Evaline Cameron.

“How do you feel?” the vision asked, her face drawn in lines of concern and care. “What hurts?”

With her leaning over him? Nothing. And everything. As his head pounded, so did his pulse. He had to send her away. Now. “Could you…scoot back please?”

Apology shone in her wary brown eyes, and she did as he asked.

Slowly, he pushed to sit, then lifted his hand and touched the spot that burned at the back of his head. He pulled his fingers away, and some blood coated his skin.

She gasped. “Here. Press it gently to the spot.”

He glanced at her, then down at the wet handkerchief she held out to him. He hesitated. But he needed something to stop the bleeding, so with his eyes averted from her, he took the linen. He gingerly placed it on the wound, wishing the hammering would stop.

Of course, it didn’t help that the woman who tempted him to rejoin life knelt near him. She had as much to do with the battering going on in his body as his injury.

“What happened?” she asked.

He couldn’t have a conversation with her. He had to get her to leave. “Doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” she argued gently. “You were unconscious.”

He moved to stand. “That’s passed. I appreciate your kindness.”

She’d also risen, her face filled with concern and alarm.

But he ignored what he saw and tried to give her handkerchief back. However, the blood staining the linen gave him pause. “I apologize. I’ll wash it and leave it with the bottles when your father delivers supplies next week.” He lowered his arm.

“Mr. Walsh, I think I ought to make sure you’re all right and fetch the doctor. Knocks on the head can be dangerous.” She smoothed a palm over her stomach, then linked her fingers together and rested her hands against her skirt.

He’d experienced worse. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for your care.”

With a look of uncertainty, she bit her lip. “No gratitude is necessary. I was glad to be here, even though seeing you lying on the ground like that frightened me.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry about that.” If he’d been paying better attention, he wouldn’t have smashed his skull against the bottom of the upper half of the outside cupboard he used to store supplies.

She shook her head. “No need to apologize. Really.”

He needed to ask her to go. Now. He drew in a breath, but she interjected with, “You’re so alone out here that I worry for you. What if you get hurt worse than this? No one would be around to help you.”

Which suited him. He didn’t deserve to live after killing a husband, father and friend. A good man. “I’m capable of caring for myself.”

“Yes, but—”

​Despite the throbbing in his head, he lifted a hand and said firmly, “Miss Cameron, I’m fine. Please, return to town.”

"Ms. O'Neal's books are always entertaining. This one headed in a different direction and was fun to read. The ending was a surprise. I had the story figured differently but, as usual, I was surprised by the true "culprit". Couldn't put it down until I knew!"

-- Amazon Reviewer

"I think this is my favorite story in the series, and I loved them all. This was a true story about overcoming something tragic. Love conquers all."

​-- Amazon Reviewer

THE ROSE OF SHARON

​He loved her.

He had to stop lying to himself, stop pretending.

He loved her.

Libby Truman.

Libby Mae Truman.

At the thought of her name, his heart swelled to almost bursting.

He allowed her angelic form to materialize in his mind’s eye, and his pulse began to race.

Letting out a slow breath, he rose from the chair behind his desk. He drifted closer to the second-story windows of his office and looked out at the sunset.

The red was blending into orange. West Texas had its beauty, and it never failed to amaze him. The rawness of the land, the untamed nature, had appealed to his soul, and despite what his wife had wanted, he’d settled here to build his legacy.

And that’s when it had all gone bad.

Penelope hadn’t wanted to live in Brownwood. She’d wanted Austin. Or Houston.

He’d put his foot down.

That had been his mistake, but he’d tried to make up for it. He’d worked his fingers to the bone, had created three companies, had amassed enough wealth to give her whatever she wanted.

Whatever she wanted, though, was never enough.

He hadn’t known that the strawberry-blonde curls, the sparkling hazel eyes, the sweet smile had hidden a selfish, manipulative viper.

After ten years of trying, he’d given up. He’d fallen out of love, which made having a marriage impossible. Not that Penelope had cared or noticed. She’d thrown all her efforts, time, love, and care into their son, Anson.

Who was now in prison. For murder.

As it always did, the memory of his child being arrested, tried, sentenced, and taken away made his heart crack. It was a wonder the organ still worked.

He thought about his life, catalogued his mistakes and regrets. Hanging his head, he slipped his hands into his pockets, pushing his gray suitcoat back.

There was only one bright spot in his world.

Libby Truman.

Blonde-headed, blue-eyed, petite.

Generous. Hard-working. Highly intelligent.

Fiercely independent.

They’d operated side-by-side over the years, both helping with various social functions. He’d sat on the Town Council multiple times, and she’d been the leader of many events that had needed the council’s approval. They also attended the same church, where she was very active, and had consistently inspired him to be the best he could be.

She was the epitome of womanhood.

And yet, she’d never married. He didn’t even know if she’d ever been courted.

The man who might turn her head would be the best of men.

And he was not.

Yes, he was a good businessman, and he had reasons to believe he was a good boss and a good Christian. But he’d failed as a husband and father, the two most important roles.

He lifted his head and gazed once again at the setting sun.

And thought of her.

Libby.

He loved her.

Brannon Welch loved Libby Truman.

He would hold the truth inside, though. He would never act on his feelings.

He had a wife. She’d deserted him, had moved back to Dallas, but he had one.

And Libby had principles. She never went back on them.

He smiled softly.

​My God, how I love her.

"Set against the dusty charm of Brownwood, Texas in 1883, this western romance delivers a tender, mature love story wrapped in danger, longing, and second chances. Libby Truman, a woman who has rebuilt her life with dignity and restraint, becomes an unexpectedly compelling heroine as mysterious Rose of Sharon blossoms begin to stir feelings she thought she’d buried forever.

Brannon Welch is equally captivating—a respected businessman whose quiet devotion to Libby feels both forbidden and deeply human. His emotional journey, especially after his wife’s abandonment, gives the story a grounded, heartfelt tension. Their connection grows with a slow-burn sweetness that feels earned, not rushed.

Just when romance begins to bloom, the novel pivots into high-stakes suspense. The threat that rises against Libby injects urgency and grit into the narrative, pushing Brannon into the role of protector in a way that feels both classic and emotionally resonant. The blend of romance and frontier danger keeps the pages turning.

Overall, this story shines because it centers on characters who have lived, lost, and learned—and who dare to reach for love anyway. It’s a warm, mature western romance with just enough peril to keep your heart thumping."

-- Amazon Reviewer
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HIS FEISTY FIREWHEEL

​“What did you mean giving me this?” Laura declared, holding up the firewheel he’d tucked behind her ear earlier.

Owen’s heart was racing. His blood was pumping. The only way out of this was to fight with her. “I meant it as encouragement,” he ground out as desire burned through him.

She set her jaw in that stubborn way of hers and lowered her arm. “Encouragement?”

He nodded sharply.

Her cheeks reddened as if she wanted to rail at him.

Please, God, let her take my head off.

She shifted from foot to foot as the silence thickened. She stared him down. “I don’t believe you,” she finally said.

He gave as nonchalant a shrug as he could manage. “It’s the truth.”

She took a challenging step forward.

He curled his hands into fists. Don’t touch her. Don’t touch her. Don’t touch her.

“It can’t be,” she argued, fire smoldering in her sapphire eyes. “This is a gesture of affection. Of caring.”

Of love, she wanted to say. He could hear it.

He shrugged again. “Of course, I care for you. You’re like a sister to me.”

The fire in her gaze leapt and turned into an inferno. She flung the flower to the carpet. “Sister! I’m a sister? That’s all?”

He clamped his mouth shut as her pain began to whip his flesh. He was hurting her. He’d never wanted to hurt her.

“That can’t be all. After all these years. After everything we’ve been to each other.”

Tears were spilling over her cheeks, making his heart rip open and bleed. His breath came harder and faster.

“You’ve been my champion, and I’ve been your helper! You defended me repeatedly, with your fists even, and I sat constant at your bedside when you were sick and no one could cure you! And you say I’m nothing more than a sister to you?” She was shaking from the force of her pain. “How dare you! How can you be so cold? How can you torment me this way? You truly wanted me to marry someone else? You would’ve walked me down the aisle to another man? Handed me over? Let him—”

​In one great leap, he was in front of her, yanking her into his arms, destroyed by the picture she was creating.
He slammed his mouth onto hers, taking what he knew in his bones belonged to him.

"Me. O'Neal's books are always fun. She is committed to story telling and doesn't get bogged down by adding controversial topics and inappropriate language. In a world where such things are in our faces every day, it's great to escape into one of her stories."

​-- Amazon Reviewer

SUNFLOWERS FOR HER

​As Millie gathered her thoughts and tried to manage the hard pound of her heart, she studied John. He didn’t appear as if he’d also been tormented by their kiss throughout the day.

But it didn’t matter. She had to know, or she was going to lose her mind like she’d already lost her heart. “I have some questions,” she stated succinctly.

“All right.”

“Actually, I have two questions.”

“Two?”

“Yes.” She took in a deep breath, then said, “There was a painting of a field of sunflowers in the auction.”

He stilled and an arrested expression came over his face.

Hope surged within her. He had painted it! “Are you the artist?”

He didn’t immediately answer and swallowed hard.

She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but she had to know.

“Yes,” he said gruffly. “How’d you figure that out?”

Her cheeks flamed with heat, and she nibbled on her bottom lip. Her heart was pounding so hard. Why do I keep doing all of these scary things?

Before she could lose her nerve, she closed her eyes and said in a rush, “I was curious about your other desk and saw your drawings on it the night you tried to give back the bandages and medicine.”

After her confession, there was silence.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and found him rubbing his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” she said hastily.

He waved her off. “It’s all right.”

“I invaded your privacy.”

“Millie, it’s all right.” He lowered his arm. “What’s your other question?”

Oh, dear. Knots were forming in her stomach. What was she doing? She was being too forward. She was not herself. She was--

Enough!

All of her anxiety and agonizing had to end.

She lifted her chin. “You titled the painting “For Her”. Am I ‘her’?”

​The lines of his face went instantly unreadable, and he blinked at her. “No.”

PRICKLY POPPY

​With his drink in hand, Kit turned to face her.

Hazel twitched her lips, irritated, embarrassed, and apprehensive with depending on him.

He assessed her with his gaze while the silence stretched.

She refrained from fidgeting and didn’t dare fall into the trap of asking him what he thought of her now. Certainly, he didn’t judge her.

But she really had no idea what he was thinking. He was a ridiculous mystery she didn’t care to solve.

He quirked his lips at her. “I find it hard to believe that any man could pull one over on you, so I don’t think you ever really loved this bastard.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, remembering things she didn’t want to. He was wrong. She had loved him.

Kit cleared his throat, seeming to accept what was ahead for them. “You don’t want me to take you, and I understand that. But I’m what you’re gonna get. I might be a…” he furrowed his brow as if trying to recall something. “What did you call me that first time we spoke? A conceited hell-trap?”

She flushed but still kept silent. It was true anyway. She had not been wrong.

“Yeah, that was it.” He chuckled then took a sip of his drink, watching her over the rim. He let out a satisfied breath, then glanced at the amber liquid. “Good stuff.”

Annoyance began to simmer inside her, and her cheeks heated with the control it took to bite back the reprimand burning her tongue.

“I can see you’re gettin’ het up again, so let me finish.” He leaned forward slightly. “I’m taking you. I’ll protect you once we’re there, and I’ll sure as hell relish the chance to make this ass pay for hurtin’ you like that. No one’s gonna put a hand on you or your cousin. If I have to kill this Anson Welch, I won’t bat an eye. He deserves to be horsewhipped for lying to you and treating you like that. Nothin’s gonna happen to you.”

If he’d told her he was going to be a priest, she would’ve been less stunned. For the first time since knowing him, he actually seemed responsible. He’d spoken with such conviction and determination that she couldn’t doubt a single one of his promises. His words had mollified her somewhat, and she relaxed slightly.

“No one’s gonna hear about your secret from me, either.”

Well…

He had effectively assuaged most of her concerns. They still weren’t going to get along, but they were both adults. Surely, they wouldn’t argue for the entire duration of the trip. Her uncle trusted him. For some reason.

So…she was going to let it go. It remained to be seen if he was the best person to take her, but her uncle was wise and usually a good judge of character.

She twitched her lips, realizing she needed to say something, especially since she’d protested quite vehemently. After taking a deep breath and letting it out, she said with acquiescence in her tone, “Thank you. I appreciate your help and your discretion.”

“You’re welcome.” He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “You’re probably not gonna like this, but I hope I at least get to knock your former fiancé around some. I can’t imagine anyone runnin’ around on you. You’re a pretty little thing.”

His words stunned her. She didn’t know what to say to his compliment, especially since it was coming from him.

“I still think you’re prickly, though.”

And her surprise shot into irritation. She gritted her teeth.

​He took a final swallow of his drink, winked at her, then left.

THE RAIN LILY

“I’m…glad your heart isn’t broken over him,” Keaton said. “He never deserved you, Adeline.”

His words, and the low timbre of Keaton’s voice, caused her pulse to race. She lowered her lashes. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“I’m not being kind,” he insisted. “You bring joy wherever you go. As I said, your personality is refreshing and shouldn’t have been wasted on someone like Harris.”

Her throat went dry, and her chest tightened. She couldn’t look at him.

The silence grew heavy, and she felt him recognizing her sorrow and guilt.

“I miss that woman,” he said firmly.

Her gaze shot to his.

A determined, confident expression lined his face. “I miss the woman who enjoyed life, who laughed with abandon, who spoke to everyone, and included everyone in her fun.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I miss the woman who knew her worth, who understood that she had so much to give, who could send a room full of people to new heights just by entering it.”

Her throat went raw with emotion, and it was taking all her control not to cry. “That woman destroyed a marriage.”

“Dudley and Daphne are still married,” Keaton argued. “You did no such thing.”

“I shamed my family.” A tear slipped over her cheek. “They disowned me.”

“A knee-jerk reaction that will change as time goes by.” He waved a dismissive hand. “They miss you, I know it. They’re grieving and not sure how to forgive you, but they will.”

She shook her head and dashed away the few tears sliding over cheeks. “You didn’t see the faces of my parents. You weren’t subject to their righteous anger.” Her shoulders began to shake with the strength it was taking to hold back her sobs.

“Adeline—”

“No!” She jumped up. “What I did was wrong! I don’t deserve happiness! I don’t deserve—”

He shot to his feet and gripped her upper arms. “Stop! That’s not true.” He gave her a gentle shake. “You can’t think like that. I understand that you feel guilty, but that doesn’t mean you should relegate yourself to the shadows, that you condemn yourself to a life in a prison of your own making.”

Her insides hurt. He was asking her to, no, demanding, that she forgive herself. She couldn’t do it. “I…I c-can’t.”
Earnest, he stepped closer to her and cupped her cheek with one hand. “Adeline, please. Don’t hate yourself. You don’t deserve that. You deserve goodness and happiness. You deserve a life.”

More tears escaped and she shook with the effort it took to keep from breaking down.

Gently, he brushed his knuckles down her jaw. “I could give that to you,” he said softly, intently. “I want to make you happy. I want to protect you and shelter you. I want—” He let out a quaking breath. “Adeline,” he whispered, a benediction.

​He took her mouth hotly, desperately.

"Our Review: First, and perhaps most important, the characters in this story—indeed the entire Texas Wildflowers series—are so well drawn they should be used as a blueprint for a workshop in creating memorable characters. On another topic, this same story is an excellent teaching for establishing goals, motivation and conflict in the first five pages, then reinforcing then throughout the story. The Rain Lily is masterfully crafted and carried through to the very end. Do Not Miss this one. It’s a winner on every level. Based on a scale of 1-5, The Rain Lily merits an 8."

-- Kat Henry Doran, Wild Women Reviews

​

MISS GREEN EYES

​She turned toward the gate, took one step then halted in her tracks.

Ewan was bracing his forearms on the fence, watching her.

How long had he been there? If the past twenty minutes hadn’t been private, she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of that.

Setting her jaw, she started briskly toward him.

He straightened as she got closer. When she reached him, he quirked his lips at her. “I know that look. I’m in for it, aren’t I?”

His dry tone irked her, but she refrained from being baited into scolding him over it. “How long have you been here?”

He shrugged. “Just a few minutes. I stayed behind to talk with Jacobs.” He glanced over her shoulder toward the graves. “Came here to pay my respects before heading home.”

Could she believe him? She never knew if he was telling the truth when it came to their…banter. He always seemed to be teasing her through veiled comments and slightly mocking looks. When he’d called her Knobs all those years ago, she’d declared war, and he’d been very willing to charge headlong into battle. Neither had surrendered.

“That’s kind of you,” she replied, though her tone carried a trace of doubt. Not about him wanting to pay his respects, but about how long he’d been there.

He made no comment about her suspicion and silence fell between them.

A breeze came through, pulling at some locks of her hair. She pushed her handkerchief into her skirt pocket and let out a sigh. She looked toward the road, thinking about what her father had charged them with. “So…we’re traveling companions.”

“Seems like it.”

She twitched her lips. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’d rather not go.” She forced herself to meet his always confident gaze. “There’s nothing in it for you.”

“That’s not true. Apparently there’s some sort of surprise at the end.” He gave a slight grin, then made a dismissive gesture with a hand. “But that doesn’t matter. Your papa asked me to escort you, and I’m gonna do that. You’ll be safe with me, Annalee.”

That she knew. The tales she’d heard about his bravery and strength should be written in one of those dime novels. “I appreciate it. I’d rather not have Peter questioning my decisions for six months, and I’m sure he’ll be uncomfortable doing so.”

“He said as much when I spoke to him.” Ewan removed his hat, and the sun shone off his raven hair. He checked something on the brim of his white Stetson, and continued, “I’m sure this journey isn’t gonna be difficult. Probably the hardest thing will be sleeping on the ground.”

And being in close proximity to him, but she kept the comment tightly reined. “I’ve always wanted to ride the trail. Papa told me it wasn’t necessary, especially since we don’t have to drive cattle as far now that trains reach farther.”

Ewan put his hat back on. “He’s granting you a wish. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy yourself.”

As long as he didn’t bait her, she would. Their interactions the last several days had been more subdued. He hadn’t teased her once. But, then, her father had passed away. It would be disrespectful to irritate her on purpose. Besides, she knew he was grieving, as well. “I’m going to look at this journey as something to treasure. I’m sure you’re right and the tasks will be simple.”

“I’ve been thinking about the seven letters Jacobs had to send,” Ewan said. “There are seven stops along the trail that are in Texas, and after the seventh you’re in Oklahoma. I’m bettin’ our trip stops at Fort Worth.”

She perked up at that. “That’s where Papa and Mama were married.”

Ewan lifted his brow. “Oh, yeah?”

She nodded, excitement filtering through her. “Do you think there would be time for me to visit the church?”

A gentle light entered his eyes. “If not, we’ll make the time.”

Confused by the softness of his expression, she didn’t immediately respond. After a beat, she cleared her throat and said, “Thank you. I wouldn’t want to go all the way up there and not see where they were married.”

“Never know when you’ll be back,” he added.

She nodded, then quickly covered any possible awkward silence with, “I’ll head on home now and start packing.”

He moved to the side so she could push through the gate. “You’ll be all right?” he asked her.

“Of course.” She gave a quick nod of her head in goodbye, then turned away. As she walked to Epona, the animal heard her approach and lifted her head from eating the soft grass near the fence. Once mounted, Annalee spared a look at Ewan who still stood in the same spot.

That gentle expression on his face was gone and had been replaced with the teasing one she knew so well.

“Don’t fall off,” he warned her.

Irritation spiked within her, but she refused to answer back. She lifted her chin, tugged on Epona’s reins then kicked her into a gallop.

Fall off!

When had she ever?

​He was impossible!

"From the first page of this short, intense western romance author O’Neal shows her gift for describing emotion in succinct detail, keeping the pages turning. Annalee’s profound grief is immediately compounded by shock, followed by—for a few short moments—helplessness and dismay and maybe a touch of fear. Then she spies Ewan at the edge of the cemetery and steel straightens her spine. A phrase, common to modern times, fits quite well: Bring It On. Miss Green Eyes portends a terrific Wildflowers of Texas series and we cannot wait for the next edition. Based on a scale of 1-5, Miss Green Eyes merits a 7."

-- Kat Henry Doran, Wild Women Reviews

EVERLEIGH'S GAME

“You’re late.”

She yelped and jumped, covering her mouth as she turned toward the strong, firm reprimand.

A man stood in the open doorway of the parlor, his hands in the pockets of his gray trousers. She took in his short, blond hair, granite jaw, full lips, and piercing blue eyes, but it was his glower she fixed on.

“I-I beg your pardon?” she stammered, unable to gather her wits at his surprising entrance.

He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. As he considered the time, he asked, “You’re Miss Everleigh Camden, the secretary?”

Foreboding slipped up her spine as her brain began to work and she realized who was speaking to her. “I am.”

“And your day starts at nine?” He closed his watch and returned it to his vest pocket before looking at her again.

“Yes.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to point out that Mr. Abbott hadn’t yet arrived either, especially since she had no idea how late she was. Perhaps fifteen minutes. Maybe.

As he regarded her, she refused to fidget and held her arms loose at her sides.

His glower did not ease, but he said, “In the future, you’ll be more respectful of our working hours.”

Her ire spiked, and she had to swallow a retort. “I assume you’re Mr. Wade Bennett?”

He nodded once. “I am.”

“You’re early.”

“By a whole week, yes, I know.” His mouth tipped up at the corners. “It’s much better than being late.”

She lifted her brow, noticing the nice masculine curve of his lips. She shook off the unwanted observation. “An opinion, Mr. Bennett. Who knows what I might have avoided by getting a later start this morning.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly and was quiet while assessing her once more. After a few moments, he said, “I’ve not had a female secretary before, but Abbott informed me you’re helpful.”

She smoothed her hands over the front of her form-fitting, linen, navy jacket and skirt. “I enjoy the work here and have been employed with Mr. Abbott for the last four years.” Ever since she’d gained control over her trust fund and had explained to her parents that she wanted a job before a marriage, she’d run the office of Paul Abbott. Her mother was still shedding tears she’d chosen a job over marriage.

Finally, Mr. Bennett moved from where he stood, strolling toward the seating area just in front of her desk. He stopped behind one of the leather, wingback chairs. “He explained you even help in court.”

She hadn’t expected Mr. Abbott to say so much. “Sometimes.”

“And that you’re discreet.”

“Always.”

Mr. Bennett’s expression finally eased, going from irritation to slight interest. “I’m looking forward to working here then. But tell me…are you usually late?”

Again, she had to bite back a retort, but she refused to shy away from answering correctly. “I have no idea.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

​She gave a nonchalant shrug. “Mr. Abbott isn’t so strict, so I’m not sure if I’m at my desk at nine sharp each day.”

Mr. Bennett’s blue eyes stormed with irritation. “Let’s be more mindful of it, shall we?”

How she wanted to argue, but he was as much her boss as Mr. Abbott. “Of course.”

He nodded then moved toward the railing with its swinging door. “If we could get started, I would appreciate it. I have a secondary reason for moving to Houston, and I plan on succeeding quickly and efficiently.”

She turned, finally noticing that the second desk that had been moved in last week held a blotter, pen and ink set, paperweight, and several stacked newspapers. Very ordered. Very…minimal.

Oh, dear.

She wasn’t going to like Mr. Bennett, despite his handsomeness and tall, capable frame. “And what is it that we will be doing?”

​He spread one of the newspapers out on his desk, and without looking up replied, “We’re going to catch the Shooter Creek Bandits.”