Elise Scofield is making a fresh start. A move to sunny California may be just what she needs, especially with Scott there.

Scottie and I have always been close, “two straws in a soda” is my mom’s weird way of putting it. We’ve gotten over that awkwardness of having kissed a long time ago, and fallen into an easy brother-and-sister-type of relationship. He’s the best. And who knows? He might even introduce me to an eligible hockey player or two.

But when Scott’s teammate says he’d like to spend TEN MINUTES IN THE SIN BIN with Elise, Scott becomes hot enough to melt the ice that he plays on. Then when Scott finds out his opposite winger is only trying to win a bet by bedding Elise, he wants to check his teammate into oblivion. But why are his feelings always so amped up around Elise?

One thing’s for certain; he’s determined to keep Sergei from hurting Elise. And when he’s determined, he gets what he wants.
​
The only problem is...this time around he’s not sure what it is he wants.  
​​

TEN MINUTES IN THE SIN BIN: AN EXCERPT

I put the puck on the ice between us and hoped to catch her gaze, but she was focused. Her lips were in motion; she was strategizing. I chortled. “You’re so cute when you think you have a chance of winning.”

“Shut up and play.”

I raised my brows. Ooh, touchy.

We tapped ice, then stick, ice, then stick, ice, then stick, and then with lightning speed she got the puck. In her excitement, though, she let the puck get away from her. Rookie mistake. She had to go deep into the corner to regain control, which gave me the opportunity to get in position in front of the net. Our eyes met. She knew it was over. If she took a shot, I wouldn’t let it go in, and I’d take it to the other end before she’d finished her follow-through. She skated warily to the blue line, giving herself time to think, then poured it on, weaving across the ice, going backhand to forehand and back, honed in on me, hoping I’d commit one way or another. I opened my legs to give her a glimpse of the five-hole and she bought it, taking her shot. I didn’t have goalie’s pillows to seal it off, but I still managed to block it. Elise lost an edge and went sliding into the boards with a loud thud. She moaned, lying face down on the ice.

“Elise!” Forgetting everything else I sprinted to her side. “Are you okay?”

“Oh.” She lifted her head, grimacing. “What happened?” she said shakily. She got on all fours.

I tried to assess the level of damage. “Where does it hurt?”

“Umm…” She lunged to her right, hooking the puck with the blade of her stick and swung it into the net. “Yes!”

It took me a second to realize I’d been had. “Wait. That didn’t count.”

“I didn’t hear any whistle, so the play was not dead. I won.” She rolled onto her butt and extended her arm for me to help her up.

I jerked her to her feet and again her closeness made my throat tighten. “I should have dumped you on your butt.”

She removed her bucket, shaking free all of that gorgeous hair and grinning at me. “Yes. You should have.” She tapped my lips with her finger. “But you didn’t.”

I really, really wanted to kiss her. Like, knock her onto the ice and rip off her pads. And rip off my pads. And touch her smooth skin. And feel her lips under mine. And--

“Are you coming?”

She had glided about halfway across the ice and had pivoted, looking at me with a little cocky lift of her chin. I let out a scream that was partially a deep-throated yowl, partially an unidentifiable shout and rushed her. She shrieked and jumped then tried to race away from me, but I caught her at the boards where she had been hindered by opening the gate, trapping her in my arms, my mouth at her ear.

​“You, my dear, are a cheat.”

M.J. SCHILLER

M.J. Schiller is a lunch lady/romance-romantic suspense writer. She enjoys writing novels whose characters include rock stars, desert princes, teachers, futuristic Knights, construction workers, cops, and a wide variety of others. In her mind everybody has a romance. She is the mother of a twenty-seven-year-old and three twenty-five-year-olds. That's right, triplets! So having recently taught four children to drive, she likes to escape from life on occasion by pretending to be a rock star at karaoke. However…you won’t be seeing her name on any record labels soon. 

Website: https://mjschillerauthor.blogspot.com/
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/m-j-schiller
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/MJ-Schiller-Romance-Author/286382241460365?ref=hl
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/mjschiller/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mjschiller
Tumblr: http://mjschilz.tumblr.com/
Instagram: https://instagram.com/mjschiller
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6479377.M_J_Schiller
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/M-J-Schiller/e/B009JOQFQQ

​CORA LEE’S WAGER is finally here! Book 3 in the GAMBLERS & GUNSLINGERS series was quite a surprise. I had no idea the book would go in the direction it did, and I must say, it was quite exciting.
 
Cora Lee suffers through the death of her entire family in a yellow fever epidemic. Then her wealthy and formidable grandmother refuses to take her in. She becomes the ward of Frederick Tucker, who is also the father of four rowdy boys.
 
Cora becomes a member of the Tucker family quickly, and ends up falling for the oldest boy, Graham. And he falls for her.
 
But before they can go forward with their future, Cora is sent away. She ends up in an orphanage, and eventually becomes…
 
The “Angel of the Acre”. Hell’s Half Acre, that is.
 
She’s the gambler in this romance. Which was interesting, to say the least. A spot at her table is coveted, but her hero, the man she’s always loved despite the pain he’s caused her, is pretty straight-laced. And when he comes to find her, at the behest of her wealthy grandmother, Cora’s mettle is tested on many levels.
 
I adored writing Cora. I loved giving her and Graham their happy ending. They have to defeat more than one foe to have the future they’ve always wanted, but Graham is determined and won’t let anything stand in their way. Including Cora’s own fears.
 
It’s a beautiful story about second chances and the power of love. Happy reading!
​

CORA LEE'S WAGER: AN EXCERPT

Cora rocked lightly as birds twittered and flitted about. A fox trotted across her yard, and she smiled at the creature. Its red coat contrasted with the green of the short grass and the orange of the Indian paintbrushes that grew in patches.

This heavenly spot, ironically so close to hell on Earth, couldn’t be duplicated anywhere else. It was one of the reasons why she’d stayed and hadn’t sold the house after Butler had died.

She let out a sigh, sank deeper into the rocker, opened her book and just enjoyed the morning. A half-hour had passed when she felt a presence to her right. She turned her head, and her breath flew up into her throat.

Graham!

He stood on the dirt lane that went by the side of her home, his hands in his pockets, a guarded expression on his face. Their past stretched between them.

In a second, every morning she’d ever spent with him flashed before her eyes. They’d both loved the dawn. Those quiet hours before the world started. And they’d shared them together in his father’s library or on the porch just beyond the French doors.

And he must’ve decided to take a chance and see if she still woke with the sunrise.

She managed to drag in a breath but couldn’t move. She needed to get inside, hide herself from the pain he caused her. But her feet wouldn’t listen.

With a tight jaw, he took a few steps, and now he was in her yard, but still on the fringes.

He didn’t want to get close to her, either.

Well…

They’d sent her away, hadn’t they? She shouldn’t be surprised he didn’t want to see her.

So why was he subjecting them to this torture?

“Good morning,” he rumbled.

Her stomach clenched at the sound of his voice. It was deeper than she remembered.

“I need to speak with you,” he continued. He removed his hat, revealing his dark brown hair that fell attractively over his forehead.

The suit he wore helped cut him into a powerful figure. She was certain he was capable. Intelligent. Probably took care of things efficiently and to his satisfaction, regardless of whom he hurt.

He was a man now. And she thrilled at the sight of him.

Panic gripped her, and she squared her shoulders instantly, needing to get away from him, or she might beg him to explain what she’d done wrong. “I doubt we have anything to say to each other.” She twisted her lips into a sardonic smile. “You’re not someone with whom I choose to associate any longer.”

Oh, praise the Lord! She’d found the Angel of the Acre, and she would use her to block her desperation for this man.

He flinched and stiffened. “Look,” he growled, “I’ve got important business with you, and—”

“I can’t imagine why.” She shrugged. “There’s nothing you have that I could want, and I’m not interested in learning why you disagree.”

He curled his hands into fists, crushing the brim of his hat. “Maybe not, but you could at least hear me out.”
She laughed as if she hadn’t a care or concern for him. “I don’t think so. I only do business over a poker table.”

Disgust flashed in his eyes.

Good. Perhaps he would leave her alone now.

“So I’ve learned,” he spat. “Gambling is an abomination.”

She smirked. “And one I adore. There’s nothing like discovering your opponent’s weaknesses and taking him for everything he has.”

She’d never willingly done that. Or she hoped she hadn’t. She couldn’t control a man’s behavior or choices.

Graham let out a noise of disgust. “Fools. All of you.”

She shrugged. “At least we’re having a good time.”

Something shone in his eyes that she couldn’t name, but she didn’t want to look too deeply anyway. She needed to get him to leave. “Your errand is more foolish than any wager I could make,” she told him. “Best be on your way and find someone else to have your discussion with.”

He glared at her for a few silent moments. “Are you telling me that you truly only conduct business at a poker table?”

She grinned. “It’s no fun otherwise.”

With a frustrated exhale, he shoved his fingers through his hair.

Her heart flipped at its mussed state. My God. He’s gorgeous.

When he faced her again, she schooled her features back into a careless mask.

“Fine,” he ground out. “I’d like to enter tonight’s game.”

She laughed. “You can’t be serious?”

​“If that’s the only way I can speak to you, then it’s what I’ll do.”

​Allow me to introduce you to Evaline Cameron, the daughter of the General Store owner, a share-all who takes care of those who are sick, plans as many social gatherings as she can, and has too much curiosity for her own good. She is the heroine of EVALINE’S GRIT, book 14 in the RECLUSIVE MAN series.
 
I adored writing this type of character! Optimistic, kind, determined and, honestly, quite courageous.
 
I needed someone who could draw out a recluse, and it had to be a person who understood that love is the most important thing. She had to have experienced her own loss, so she could identify with what grief can do to a heart, and she absolutely had to have grit. Especially when dealing with a stubborn, but gentle, fellow like Jack Walsh.
 
EVALINE’S GRIT also has an element of mystery. There is a murder that needs solving, and because Evaline doesn’t give up on Jack, he learns the truth to his past.
 
It was a joy to bring these characters their happy ending! Happy reading!

EVALINE'S GRIT: AN EXCERPT

​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.”

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT is the first of the Ravenclaw series, a work that I’ve wanted to put together since 2014. The research was done, with some scenes complete, but the novel itself took a lot of rewriting into more conspiracies and theories to fictionalize it, and catching up to the present. And more research.

I’m great at conspiracy theories and can weave a credible theory from a monarch butterfly swirling around a flower. Since there are so many conspiracies, or conspiracy theories in the world – all at the same time, I figured it was time to start weaving. I think I got them all, all in fiction, of course <cough>.

Now I’m retired and can work on all the novels I’ve started. I live next door to a ranch, so I see a possible story in that one too. Yes, I need help. Psychiatric help. Besides my obvious psychopathy, I am a voracious reader and writer. I write mostly police procedurals, go figure, right?

​I have a very slight addiction to social media. I have an author page where I only post author stuff, and a main page where my comments often occasionally land me in Facebook jail time out <cough>. 
​

Cheyenne Keyes is a low-level microbiologist with a genius-automated program. She doesn’t believe Scott Walker is a protection detail. Instead, he has got to be a cultist or committing industrial espionage.
 
When she becomes infected with a spliced Ebola virus, she is certain the deathblow is imminent and works feverishly with her Israeli mentor to find a cure.

Scott returns to the field, and one after another, he finds his team endangered by leaks to enemy combatants. He must overcome his doubts in his leadership to find the leak.

Cheyenne must overcome her mistrust of the Army Ranger who said he was trying to save her life. It’s a pandemic, and Keyes, as she lays dying, wonders what might have been had she trusted Scott.

​Scott must stop the family bent on deconstructing the country with a bioweapon and find a way back to Cheyenne before she dies.   
​

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT: AN EXCERPT

Cheyenne grabbed her pepper spray and found her phone. Shallow breaths. Now deep breaths. No black zone. She raised her head. The taxi driver now began to swing his gun around.

Another crack! from outside the taxi. The cabby flew back into the driver’s side window as Cheyenne dialed 911.
The phone rang. Then again. And once again. Nothing but dead air.

Her gut clenched. She opened the back driver’s side handle. Locked.

Seriously?   

The man with the hoodie opened the driver’s seat door and pushed the cabby’s body into the passenger side, and yanked Cheyenne by her coat to the passenger side of the car, pushing her back. He trained his gun on her.
“Phone. Hand me the phone.”

She swallowed and held onto it.

He pushed the barrel to her forehead. “I said, phone.” 
 
Cheyenne slammed his wrist into the passenger window with one hand and pepper-sprayed him in the face. She dropped the spray into her lap and grabbed the back of his neck with the other, repeatedly banging it into the front of the headrest.

She yelled through gritted teeth, “You picked the wrong scientist.”

He grasped her by the throat. She grabbed his pinkie finger and pulled it backwards, then bit into the fleshy part of his palm. She drove her open hand into his face.

Scott lunged forward, freeing her surprisingly powerful grip from his gun hand and head butted her, knocking her backwards.

Cheyenne clapped a hand to her head and slung vile words at him.

“I did not want to do that.”

She yelled, “Oh yeah, you were forced.” More odious words.    

He swept up her phone, tossed it into the ditch, and left the front seat.

Opening the passenger door, he said, “If I have to knock you unconscious, I will, but if you keep your mouth shut, this will go a lot smoother.” He slid his Glock into its concealed holster, pulled her up to the rear seat, and duct-taped her hands and mouth.

Her eyes seeped fury. Eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, she directed a withering glare at him.

He yanked Cheyenne from the back seat, crooking his arm around her neck. He popped the hood of the trunk, and said, “Sit on the edge and I’ll help you in.”

She shook her head. “Mmmph-mmmph! Mmmph… oooh!”

“Fine, have it your way.” He picked her up, but even with hands and feet secured, she fought against him, attempting to kick, and still swearing through the duct tape. Scott lifted her and dumped her into the back without ceremony.  

“I’ll explain everything when you cool down,” he said.

“Cooo daw? Cooo daw?”

“Yes. Cool down.” He slammed the trunk lid, slid into the driver’s seat of the cab, and wiped the blood from his lip. He pulled the taxi back onto the street and headed towards home her safe house for now. With only one way in or out: through him. Oh, she’ll love that, all right.

​REINVENTING RILEY: AN EXCERPT

He walked her to the door and waited while she unlocked it.

She looked up. “Do you want a glass of wine?” While being alone seldom bothered her, the evening ahead looked long with only Hagar for company. “Maybe watch a movie? I start watching Christmas movies on Thanksgiving night, so I guarantee you’ll have plenty of opportunity to roll your eyes.”

He hesitated long enough for it to hurt, and she drew back. “Never mind. You don’t have—”

“I want to,” he said. “Maybe a little more than is good for either of us. I don’t want to let you in for the gossip that often goes along with dating a single pastor.”

The relief made her feel a little silly. “Probably not as much as if I dated a married one.”

But who was talking about dating? He was a dedicated minister with little left over to offer to a relationship. Besides, the sudden appearance of the boy called Griff was enough for him to have on his mind. Not that Rye didn’t want to spend time with Jake, but dating and depth didn’t go together for her. Sometimes, when she allowed herself to worry about things, she worried that she wasn’t capable of depth.

She wasn’t going to think about that now. She was going to think about wine and cheese while watching the 1951 version of A Christmas Carol. If a handsome man sat on the loveseat beside her, that was all right. That’s all, just all right.

“So?” She hated the breathiness of her voice that made her sound like the stereotype of a beauty pageant winner. She wasn’t the breathy type. Breathiness went with depth, didn’t it?

“So, would you like me to open the wine? I’m good with a corkscrew.”

They still stood inside the door, the lights on the Christmas tree she’d put up the night before lending ambiance to the little house. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll slice some cheese. Do you have a favorite?”

“White kinds. I might not be too knowledgeable about cheese.”

“Do you like Christmas songs?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

Rye’s list of holiday music played softly as they worked together in the tiny kitchen, bumping into each other every minute or so and laughing each time. It wasn’t self-conscious, the laughter, and she reveled in it. How long it had been since she shared that particular kind of joy with a man she…liked? Yes, liked. No more, no less.

After the third clashing of elbows, Jake set down the glasses he’d taken out of the cupboard and took the knife from her hand. “Let’s do this,” he said, and took her into his arms. Not close or tight, but warm, and danced with her through the kitchen and hallway, ending in the glow from soft light from the tree in the living room. They stood, swaying together.

“Your eyes,” he said, “are extraordinarily blue.”

“Yours are extraordinarily green.” His sweater, the same color as his eyes, was soft under her hands, covering shoulders and arms more muscular than she had expected. He was just the right height to dance with, too. Looking up didn’t hurt her neck, but he was enough taller than she to reduce her tendency to lead. “Is this our first date?”

He looked thoughtful. “No. Actually, I think we’ve had several. We’ve just kind of avoided calling them that.”

“That’s good then.” She sounded breathy again, but the truth was, she was feeling a little winded by his proximity and how it made her feel. “Because, I wouldn’t want to be known as someone who…you know…would kiss on the first date.”

“No, that wouldn’t be good, would it?” His arms tightened. “But maybe after several dates it would be okay?”

“I think so. A nice kiss goes well with wine and cheese and Ebenezer Scrooge’s story.”

“Does it?” His lips, warm and firm, met hers then. Searching. Tasting. Releasing. For a moment. “If one goes well, how would they be with two?”

“Oh.” She raised her hands, threading them through his thick, soft hair. “I think they’d be even better.”

The wine, cheese, and movie were wonderful after four kisses, splendid after five. The wine had had plenty of time to breathe and the cheese had warmed so that its flavor was rich and its consistency creamy.

Kind of like the kisses. Not the creamy part, but warm and rich and leaving her with a wish for more.

BIO: LIZ FLAHERTY

USA Today bestselling author Liz Flaherty started writing in the fourth grade when her Aunt Gladys allowed her to use her portable Royal typewriter. The truth was that her aunt would have let her do anything to get her out of her hair, but the typewriter and the stories it could produce caught on, and Liz never again had a day without a what if… in it.

She and Duane, her husband of at least forever, live in a farmhouse in central Indiana, sharing grown children, spoiled cats, and their grandkids, the Magnificent Seven. (Don’t get her started on them—you’ll be here all day.)
To find out more about her, stop by http://lizflaherty.net/ or sign up for her newsletter at http://eepurl.com/df7dhP. 

​http://lizflaherty.net/
http://www.facebook.com/lizkflaherty
https://twitter.com/LizFlaherty1
http://wordwranglers.blogspot.com/
http://windowoverthesink.blogspot.com/
https://www.amazon.com/Liz-Flaherty/e/B001J919R4%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3336348.Liz_Flaherty
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/liz-flaherty
https://www.instagram.com/lizkflaherty/?hl=en

I'm about to be nine years old. I made it through third grade and multiplication. And now........

IT'S SUMMER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Like any other kid I'm now spending countless hours outside with Kirk and Scotty. Bill is outside, too, toddling around because he's only three, but no one could keep him inside. Maria and Wendy are inside probably playing school. (Insert eye roll.)

But Kirk, Scotty and I are across from our houses in the lot building a big ol' ditch. We are deep in the dirt and then comes the devastating news. The horrible, gut-wrenching news. The "woe is me", "what am I gonna do", "maybe I can hitch hike away from here" news.

It's Music and Arts week at church. Which means I will be spending a week at church doing arts and crafts, learning songs, dances and listening to adults talk and talk and talk until we get to the finale, which is a concert.

Now this Big Idea isn't a new one, however, it will still be -- to keep us on track -- Big Idea #11. This Music and Arts weeks is actually the second one. The theme was "Down By The Creek Bank".

I don't remember most of the songs -- which is odd for me. Because I sing all the time and can catalogue my life through song. But for some reason, I couldn't hum a single measure of anything save for one.

I loved the tune because Wendy loved it so much. And she was so cute when she sang it. It was called, "Germs, My Invisible Dog". She loved animals. And she was so sweet to our own dog, Misty.

But that was the only redeeming moment during this week.

Oh! And ANOTHER thing.....

My mom cut off my hair.

She had three daughters and didn't have time to do all that washing and drying and combing and braiding. Honestly, I wasn't too bothered by it because I hated sitting through all that. However, looking back on the pictures now, I cringe.

Oh, well!

Thankfully, this being "down by the creek bank" mess was only a week long. Once it was done, I was free to get back to digging the ditch with Kirk and Scotty.

Until, we had to go to the "Armpit of the South" for two weeks and get swimming lessons. Which I'd already done at least twice.

Ugh!

Why do Moms always have to be planning something?

Here they are.
​The "Big Idea" ladies. They don't look scary, do they?
In all seriousness, they are the ladies that raised me, my siblings, their own children and a whole slew of others.
They are something.
​

​Sundaes on Sunday: An Excerpt​

Lisa sat alone at a table for two. Seaside Scoops had been their special place every week for the last four years where they could relax and gear up for the week ahead. She smiled in spite of her sadness when she thought of what Brian used to call their standing date, sundaes on Sunday. A year ago, he would have been sitting across from her in the quaint seaside town, wearing a silly grin with a dab of whipped cream on his nose, all in an attempt to make her laugh. It was corny but what she wouldn’t give to see it one more time.

The last time they had been there he’d had a hot fudge on coffee. It’s funny how some things just stick. Like the fact he always took her cherry since she hated them and he loved them which is why she always ordered one. It was one of the small ways they fit together like two halves of a whole.

She looked across the narrow strip of sand to the Atlantic Ocean. Traffic was almost nonexistent on this early Sunday afternoon. The mid-spring sun was warm without the need for the pink and white umbrella to be raised. Few people were sitting outside; tourists hadn’t started to show up yet, but it was just a matter of time, and then she’d adjust to coming just before dinner—that too had been Brian’s suggestion.

As she spooned the last of the now-melted strawberry ice cream from the silver dish, she noticed a man and a little girl sitting two tables over. She was wearing a sweet yellow jumper and a white shirt with bright-red Mary Jane shoes. She couldn’t have been older than four if Lisa had to guess. She was younger than her first-grade students.

Her sweet voice caught Lisa’s attention; it held a soft Southern drawl. “Daddy, how come we can’t have ice cream every day? It’s so good. I really like strawberry ice cream the best, even better than hot dogs.” She looked up at him with big cornflower-blue eyes and her medium-length dark hair was pulled to the side of her face with a butterfly barrette. She was adorable but looked nothing like her dad except her deep dimples; she must favor her mother.

Her father smothered a chuckle. “Ice cream is a treat, Allie, which is why we have it on the weekend.”

He lifted his eyes and gave Lisa a smile and half nod. She quickly looked away, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping. If only her life had turned out differently.

A short time later the dad wiped his daughter’s hands on a napkin as best he could and placed the dishes in the container on the metal stand. Lisa held an open book in her hand but wasn’t reading it. Instead, her eyes were closed as she listened to the soothing sound of the waves crashing on the shore.

“Daddy?” Allie whispered loudly. “Do you think the pretty lady is sleeping?”

Lisa opened her eyes and gave her a small smile. “No. I’m listening to the ocean.”

Her mouth dropped open, and then she walked over to where Lisa was sitting and climbed onto a chair next to her as if they had known each other forever.

“If I close my eyes, can I hear it too?”

Her dad said, “Allie, let’s leave the lady alone; she seems to be enjoying her day.”

Lisa’s heart cracked a little. Every Sunday was the same, as if on repeat like an old movie. “I’d like the company if it’s okay with you.”

He pulled out a chair. Taking his daughter’s hand, he relented. “Just for a minute, and then we need to go.”

She couldn’t help but notice his soft-brown eyes and thick dark hair, cut short for what she guessed was ease of maintenance. He wore khaki shorts and a faded blue tee and flip-flops. Sitting across from her, he was taller by a full foot. But it was his warm smile that made her heart rate tick up in an unexpected way.

She held out her hand to the child. “I’m Lisa Peck.” Her eyes drifted to the dad.

“I’m Allie and this is my daddy.”

He gave her another warm smile. “Hunter Adams, father to a very precocious daughter.”

“It’s nice to meet you both.” She focused her attention on Allie. “Close your eyes and really think about listening to all the sounds around you. I’ll bet you can hear the waves crashing on the shoreline.”

She immediately closed her eyes and her dark lashes fluttered over her cheeks, so sweet and trusting.

“Tell me what you hear.”

Her eyes popped open, and she said, “You talking.”

Lisa laughed. “Fair enough. Let’s try it again and I’ll close my eyes too.”

Allie tipped her head. “You too, Daddy. You wanna hear the waves, right?”

He was still holding her hand. “I do but don’t let go of my hand, okay?”

“I won’t.”

Lisa set the book down and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m closing my eyes now.”

“Me too.”

They sat there quietly and the waves continued their steady rhythm of kissing the shore and slipping away.

“Daddy, do you hear it?”

Lisa opened her eyes and was surprised to see Hunter watching her.

“I do.”

“Can we go see the ocean, pretty please?”

Her big blue eyes were open wide and if she were Lisa’s daughter, it would be tough to say no. But Hunter must be used to it.

“How about we agree to walk along the sidewalk on the way to the car and we can see the waves. I wouldn’t want you to get your pretty dress all sandy before we get to Grandma’s house.”

She looked down and nodded. “I can’t get my Dorothy shoes dirty.”

Hunter leaned across the table. With a conspiratorial wink, he said, “Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.”

“I see.” She gave Allie a smile. “You look very pretty to go see your grandmother.”

“Thank you.” She slipped off the chair. “Come on, Daddy.” She gave Lisa a little wave. “Bye, Lisa.”

“Bye, Allie.” She smiled at Hunter. “She’s adorable.”

“Thanks for indulging her.” He scooped up Allie in one arm. “It was nice meeting you.”

Hunter left the ice cream shop and as promised, he carried Allie across the narrow two-lane road to the sidewalk.
She raced to the rail and climbed up on it. “Look, Daddy. The waves are huge. Can we play on the beach today?”

“Not today, peanut, but someday soon we can.” He looked over his shoulder but he couldn’t see Lisa from this vantage point. She had looked isolated; that was the only way he could think to describe it until Allie interrupted her day.

She had a sixth sense when someone needed to be comforted. It had been like that from the time she was little, long after her mom had died. Allie didn’t have any memories of Judith even though she had a framed photo of her mom next to her princess bed.

After a few more minutes, he said, “Ready to go to Grandma’s?”

“How many days before you come home?”

He held up two fingers. “We’ll mark it on the calendar, okay? It’s just two overnights at Grandma’s this time.”

He loved being a pilot. It had been his passion for fifteen years, but he hated leaving his little girl. What choice did he have unless he wanted to step out of the cockpit permanently and train for a different position within the airline industry? But giving up seniority was tough to swallow and it had its perks. He liked flying in and out of Logan and it had a more flexible schedule along with making an excellent living. It had been especially tough when Judith got sick, but the cancer took her quickly. It wasn’t like he had time to adjust to being a single parent. She made it look easy, taking care of Allie while he jetted off to the next city, state, or even country. Moving back to the Northeast had been the right thing for both of them.

“Daddy, I don’t want a trip gift this time.”

He smiled. “You don’t want me to bring home a little something?”

She shook her head. “Nope, just you.”

That melted his heart. “I promise I’ll be home as fast as I can.”

She put her tiny hand in his. “That lady was pretty.”

“Who?”

“The lady eating ice cream. I wonder where her little kids were.”

“I don’t know, honey. Maybe she doesn’t have any.”

 “I bet if she has kids we could play together. She was nice.” Allie frowned. “We should have asked her to come see the waves with us.”

“I’m sure she had other things to do.”

Allie looked up. “Daddy, she was taking a nap.”

He laughed softly. “She was enjoying her afternoon and there is nothing wrong with relaxing after a busy week.”

She squinted her eyes and tipped up her chin. “How do you know she was busy?”

“Most adults are; it’s just how we roll.” He scooped her up and tickled her until she squealed, causing a flock of seagulls to take flight. 

BIO: LUCINDA RACE

Award-winning and best-selling author Lucinda Race is a lifelong fan of romantic fiction. As a young girl, she spent hours reading romance novels and getting lost in the hope they represent. While her friends dreamed of becoming doctors and engineers, her dreams were to become a writer—a romance novelist.

As life twisted and turned, she found herself writing nonfiction but longed to turn to her true passion. After developing the storyline for The Loudon Series, it was time to start living her dream. Her fingers practically fly over computer keys she weaves stories about strong women and the men who love them.

Lucinda lives with her two little dogs, a miniature long hair dachshund and a shitzu mix rescue, in the rolling hills of western Massachusetts. When she's not at her day job, she’s immersed in her fictional worlds. And if she’s not writing romance novels, she’s reading everything she can get her hands on.

​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.

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/ 
 
Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/Alina-K.-Field/e/B00DZHWOKY
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alinakfield 
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AlinaKField
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/alina-k-field
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/alinak.field/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7173518.Alina_K_Field
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/alinakf/
Newsletter signup: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/z6q6e3

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: 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

​