​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.